Of the Dragon, of the Stars
by Absol Master
Summary: A legendary Archmage, her Cleric assistant. A city boy and his long-lost sister. Three orphans, two shadow children, a silver-haired murderess. A thousand enemies. A million unanswered questions. And only two ways it can end.
1. Sparking the Flame, Year of the Rooster

Edit 2, 3/09/2012: Revamped the prologue—better figurative writing, smoother transitions and such.

Edit 1, circa 2010: Rewrite number one, though I can't confirm that this will be the last. Many major corrections to vocabulary and description have been made from the original, but the content remains otherwise the same.

Do enjoy, and ensure that you have a lot of time to spare before deciding to embark on reading the entire story (especially in one sitting).

* * *

**OF THE DRAGON, OF THE STARS**

**by Absol Master**

* * *

PART I

Prologue: Sparking the Flame

_all beginnings_

It all began with nothing. Nothing but a cloud of energy at the very centre of the formless universe, neither warm nor cold, neither bright nor dark—not a speck of light that could itself cast shadow. It began as everything must begin—in its greatest simplicity, in emptiness.

But all things begin with coincidences, coincidences that break fatuous patterns and create new things. By some chance—a one-in-a-billion chance that would have come eventually in this trillion-year history—the energy, in its eternal changing and shifting, suddenly found that fragile moment of order. Incidental order, yes—but that was enough, and in that transient moment of order, it split into four.

Light, Darkness, Time, Life. The four orderly parts diverged, as desperately as the sparks of a firework, morphing even then into vastly differing forms.

Thus it was that the four great spirits came into being, in balance with each other—Light with Darkness, Time with Life.

The spirited Dragon, deity of Life, was the first to know His divine Instinct: he desired company, beings with which the world could be shared. So He brought forth the world, and all that lives on it—place by place, element by element. Light, the Goddess, longed order, and saw an incomparable order in the Dragon's construction. She smiled upon His world, and guided creation as it grew through its first formless ages. But Life's counterbalance was Time, whom desired to be alone and last—and Time took Life as it came, slowly and without mercy, the guillotine at the end of a wearying path.

The Spirit of the Dark was born of all that remained of the universe, all that wasn't within the other three. The Spirit of the Dark was a shadow, a desirous void of things it did not have that—longed to devour, yet would never be satiated. And power was the first thing it longed. Power over the bright universe it had been forsaken of. It hated Life and Light most of all, and knew they were Its greatest enemies in this war for the universe.

One day in the history of the universe, when the world had just begun, and only land and seas existed, the Darkness crept from its hiding in the shadows and turned upon the two, wrenching the beginning world from their grasp, and casting it into darkness.

All turned to shadow beneath the Cloaked One's wings, and the young beings upon the world suffered. The Dragon's heart was moved to rending pity, and the Goddess knew she must battle this threat of chaotic evil. Banished from the world to the corner of the universe among Her stars, She began to plot the Spirit's downfall. Together with the Dragon, she began to build a weapon, meant only to defeat the Spirit of the Dark.

With her own power in blood, and the Dragon's sacrifice of bones and teeth, She formed it at last: the Spear of Heaven, the necessary weapon that was a danger to Herself as much as it was to the Dark. It drained every last trace of the power she owned, simply to hold; the Goddess Herself feared it. It was the only thing that could harm any of the four.

And she turned to the world from afar, and threw it through the stars, through the void, the light, to the place where the Spirit of the Dark held the dead world and the empty skies. With an explosion that blazed like a star from the distance, the Spirit was blown apart, now weakened to insubstantiality. As it fled deep below the surface of the world, the Dragon flew forth to see that the spear floated, in its original four pieces, over the world He had created.

So creation started again, and when the humans of his new world had grown intelligent enough, He tossed the four parts of the feared Spear of Heaven through the rooftops and mountains, to be hidden, for it was too dangerous to remain with the three.

And so it was done. The Spear of Heaven—the one thing that could harm the four deities—was now safely split up and hidden in the world, unable to do any harm.

* * *

_millennia deep in the time of the world_

Though it had melted, the Spirit of the Dark had not died. It had fought and tried to regain its rule three times, failing thrice. But long as the core never died, the Dark never died—and Its source of power ever grew. As the human population expanded to conquer the world, so did their hate, fear and grief. Grief, hate, fear, in opposition with Time, Life, Light. They were its nourishment, the blood that fed Its growth.

The hunger grew into an addiction, and beneath that a certain _need_. A need to burst from this constant prison of powerlessness, from the mistake that had held it under control all these years so far. It had been foolish before, the Spirit knew—foolish making attack when it was barely more potent than the strongest mage of the world. The power It needed for such a coup was more, _far _more than anything the humans could amass.

It needed a servant, a great and terrible servant with whom to wreak dread upon the humans, make them hate and grieve more than they ever had before—but not by brash terrorism, as It had before. If there was anything that failure had granted, it was learning, and It had learnt of the folly of a sudden wreaking of disaster, for there would be hundreds ready to stand up to the siege. It must be stealthy and insidious. Consume from the inside.

It waited long and waited hard, but Its hunger had built its patience, rather than destroyed it. And finally, that opportunity came, in a dark serendipity.

Lost or perhaps willfully taken here, by her feet and her heart, a woman came to kneel beside the entrance to Its Underworld, tears glittering in her eyes from the blue light around her.

_Hurt, shame, anger…_ The Spirit of the Dark relished the terrible whirlpool of emotions within her heart, and licked them up ravenously like nectar off a twisted stigma. _Yes, stay where you are, and your sadness will become my power, and my power will become your cure…_

Like a human's spectre, no larger and no more terrifying, the Spirit rose out of the crack in the world, and brushing tendrils down her back, It made Its bargain.

The woman screamed for fear, she did. But her heart had been flayed open by a grief whose every detail It saw, clear as raw streaks of blood across her face. It knew the source of that pain—a broken pride, a life destroyed, an angel's fall to devilhood.

And Its bargain grew tempting, as It coiled more tentacles into her soul through her open wounds—learnt of her heart, her power, her strength which might be turned upon the people she'd made the mistake of trusting. And the world that had brought her to this circumstance.

She accepted, without any fear or apprehension thereafter, misguided by her own grief and anger to believe she longed something worse than mere _revenge_.

Then the Clock Spirit could only begin to count—count the years until the Spirit burst Its banks, shattered the world that held It.

* * *

_caleix: the last smile_

King Caleix, ruler of Victoria Island, hardly seemed a king at present. He stood in the doorway of the nursery where his sons played, and his eyes were all but gentle with the care of an ordinary man.

He may be a king, richest in the land, ruler of a million—but in familial love the farmer and the aristocrat were but equals.

And King Caleix presently sighed in his weariness, though his heart glowed warm from the sight of his lovely children.

The universe had been started by a coincidence, and a coincidence too had wrought this lovely fortune upon the monarch. All three had been chosen by the stars, for they had been born in the burning throes of a starfall, when the Goddess sank close enough to the world to ignite the asteroids and send them falling, blazing with holy fire, across the land.

Three in the last twenty years: all three had begun their glorious processions while his wife the queen had been in labour. As if the Goddess had meant to gift him, for the good things he had done in his life before. Ah, such generosity from the selfless Lady of Light! He often mused gladly upon his good fortune, when his elbows were upon the windowsill and his gaze among the stars, his wife's head leaning warm against his shoulder.

Children chosen by the stars were blessed, for the sparks of the Goddess' flame had scattered from the shooting stars, and imbued the air of their very first breaths. From those seconds they were filled up with immense, hidden powers, most of which began to show slowly, like incipient dawn, as they matured. The eldest, only four years old, was already showing signs of his great abilities; he had injured a nurse by accident.

There was a timid "excuse me, your Majesty" from behind him. Caleix turned to see a male servant standing behind him, youthful, but already as weary as an old man.

"A visitor, your Majesty," the words tumbled from his tongue. With one more glance at his three sons, and a smile, he turned and followed the servant down the corridor to the throne room.

* * *

A coincidence, too, began this tale—coincidence unalterable even by the deities.

* * *

Chapter 1: Year of the Rooster

_zethis: a beginning_

"_Dad—I…I should have asked earlier. But was thinking, if I could…you know, like the other kids…"_

Heaving another great sigh, Zethis collapsed upon his plush mattress and tossed his fifteenth script out.

_Hopeless, completely hopeless._

Why could he not have a better grip on his words, and why wouldn't they ever say the things he wanted them to?

It was only a wish. An old one nevertheless, one that had burned many good gaps in his time—but a wish that every ordinary ten-year-old child living on Henesys' rural outskirts would have cradled in his heart at least once before.

Only, this single odd wish had hung about his head all his life. He was a farmer's son, a child bound to the land. But outside the gates there walked children of the sky, children who had unearthed the secrets of the world, like gems, from its very farthest corners. It must be wonderful, to lift wyvern skulls in evening light, and rejoice in the battles that had won them.

The king of Victoria had long frowned upon the attainment of job achievements, which made their visits all the more precious. And visit they did, in secrecy or in glory, with jangling belts full of keys and mesos, weapons that gleamed with command. The ten-year-old would lower his hoe at the sound of footsteps, wiping sweat from his brow—and longingly, he would gaze where they'd gone. Some stopped for conversation, and Dad would take them in graciously for dinner. A number had dived into haystacks, and horse hooves had thundered by thereafter.

Messengers from the world far away, from whom he'd learnt all he knew about the world beyond Henesys.

All this served to make Zethis dream hopelessly.

The rest of the kids in the Henesys outskirts had already departed long ago. They had spoken of their dreams—of defying the king's orders, of become great warriors, bowmen, magicians, thieves. Then they would disappear from the neighbourhood forever. Occasionally one of them would return with new weaponry and attire—but only very seldom. The rest, Zethis never saw again.

They had found a more wonderful world beyond, he somehow knew. Or perhaps they had already been captured by the king—young fledglings, shot down too soon.

Zethis was the last child in the neighbourhood—a little boy who was too filial and too shy to ask something so outrageous. And his uncommon gentleness was apparent in his appearance too—for his eyes were soft brown, and his hair was gold as the threads of the morning.

The lone child stared on at the ceiling, dustbin at his feet, the images of his lost friends piercing him. He might see them again, if he went. Just maybe. But oh, he _wanted _to see them again…

"Argh—Dad! I just want to go on my own journey! That's all, really!"

He wasn't expecting any reply. But there and then, he heard the sound of a throat being cleared. With sudden shock, Zethis jerked up and turned—and there stood his father, leaning lazily against his doorpost.

"Dad!" the boy gasped, panicking. "I'm…I—"

"I heard," the middle-aged man replied, no sternness in his voice.

Zethis looked down at the bed sheets, sitting up, too ashamed to meet his eyes. _Now what? Am I grounded? Will he make me do the chores? I'm sorry, Dad…_

But against the boy's expectations, he did neither. His answer was simple, and ringing. "Then it's time I told you something. Before you go."

Zethis continued to gape at this mild, yet ominous, reply. He hardly realised that permission had been granted, for it was now the most diminutive of his worries. _What is it…Dad?_

Sighing, the boy's father to came to sit next to him on the bed. Something told him that he was about to hear something that would change him forever.

"I've been—lying to you for nine years already," he murmuring. Now _he _was the one who couldn't meet his son's eye. "I know I should have said so sooner, but I was afraid that if you knew this, you might leave even earlier."

Alarm swept through him. He stared nervously, not knowing how to respond. _No. What does he mean?_

"For nine years, I've—I've pretended to be your father," the words finally wrenched themselves from his throat.

_My…father?_

For the first few moments, Zethis was numb from the suddenness. He gave no response. He breathed deeply, struggling to find the space in his life where this puzzle piece fitted—finding none. "D—Dad—"

"No, not 'dad' anymore. I'm just a plain old man to you," he replied with a sad smile. "Now you do wish to depart soon, don't you?"

"I—but—" Zethis shook his head. Tears were suddenly stinging in his eyes. "I don't care! You are my _Dad! _I love you, Dad…"

He merely shook his head. "You have a _real _father somewhere!" he said in kind reply. Closing his eyes, the man relived a moment from the past, eyes wrinkling with a smile. "I found you in the middle of the Henesys forest and took you in, for fear that the king's policemen might find you and have you killed. But you have a real _father_, Zethis! You must find him."

The boy would have to take a few deep breaths before he accepted it. Or he might never recover at all. All his life, his entire ten years, he had known no one, no one but his "father". The man had told Zethis that his mother had already died, and that he had brought Zethis up alone. All his life, he had loved no one else.

"I'm sorry," the old man said hollowly. "If you want to start an adventure on your own, go ahead. I hold no more authority over you. You're on your own now—my accompaniment will only hinder you."

Zethis recalled his first request—but that felt like nothing, suddenly. How could he survive alone, he wondered vaguely. How would he carry on, without the hope of being able to see a loved one again? How would he carry on, knowing that suddenly he had no parents?

"Zethis…don't worry," his father—_foster _father said with a smile, winding an arm around his shoulders. Though he would have expected to feel a wall of distance between himself and the man, the boy felt none. It was like it had always been. Love. Strength. It brought comfort and tears, at the same time. "I'll always be proud of you, alright?"

Zethis sniffled, trying fruitlessly to hold in the tears that were now flowing freely from his closed eyelids. "Alright," the boy answered. "And I just wanted to ask you—how did you find out my real name?"

The smile returned to the aging man's face, eyes wrinkling again. "It came to me in a dream," he replied, gaze rising to the window. "The night I found you. A great, gentle voice spoke to me, and it spoke a name—and at once I knew that it was yours."

He nodded, doubt filling him up. This was all so unbelievable. And to think…would he be leaving the next day. The door was finally open, and he wouldn't refuse it—the distant mountains and forests bade him depart while he still could.

"I love you, Dad," the boy said a last time, not caring that the title was no longer valid, not caring that it never was. The old man smiled and held his Zethis close again, like he always had—when he had been the father, and the boy his son.

One day, yet an entire lifetime.

Zethis finally managed seven hours of sleep that night—seven hours filled with the same dream, coming again and again. It was always the same—a smiling man at the door. Two other children close by. Heavy drapery…

At last, dawn drew itself through the curtains, and Zethis pried his eyes open. As he awakened to the sound of his last breakfast at home, the boy's heart thudded with anticipation and anxiety and cold emptiness. Lifting his bag and the package of food his father had given him, he pushed the door open and proceeded down the pathway. The farewell was short—nothing was exchanged but a wave and a few words. He didn't want it to be too painful.

Then at last, he turned, and began on his way down the familiar sand road, out into the morning. He had walked it hundreds of times, but now, the meaning had changed. He was _leaving _now. His first step marked a new phase in his life.

* * *

_ketara: sunlight extinguished_

A young warrior-in-training watched from the top of a Perion mountainside as the sun rose between the peaks spread out before him.

_It's been almost a year…_he thought. Wind swept past, washing his short black hair into a mess. It was already almost shoulder-length; he had not cut it at all since he had left his home in Ellinia.

_Ah, dear Mother! You'd be proud of me! _He brought the image of the fairy's face to mind.

Again, Ketara wondered vaguely about his true parents. His foster-mother claimed to have found him on the west side of the Ellinian forest, and knew nothing about him except that his true name was Ketara, which she had been told by a dream.

_Ketara. Sounds like a girl's name. _The thought suddenly made him laugh, inexplicably. He was a child of laughter, he had always known—and everyone else around him, too. A blessed child. The child who enchanted everyone, young and old alike.

The only thing his mother had found on him had been a strange pendant, a broken brown gem on it. Sometimes, Ketara wondered if that alone could tell him who his true family was, and he had studied it repeatedly, in times of boredom. But the gemstone betrayed none of the secrets that it might possibly hold, and Ketara would have to live on not knowing anything about his earliest years.

Already he had been away from home for a year—and was already a level 18 warrior. He had left in late summer the year before, and summer had returned once more, marking approximately his first anniversary of his travel.

Ketara recalled his day of departure, now as he stared down at the sunlit mountainside. It had been a cool day beneath the treetops, the sunset painting the uppermost leaves orange. It had been a day of regret, and of suspense—but now, a year down the road, he realised that it had been a day of blessing.

He had thought that he would be lonely. But he somehow managed to befriend everyone he met on the road—be it another beginner like him, or a powerful Crusader or Dragon Knight on his or her way from Perion. He was a blessed child, as everyone had told him. There was this magical charisma about him that almost no one could resist. And it didn't help that he had the most beautiful face in the world.

_Haha, I wonder why _I _was blessed with this._

That was only one gift among the many he had been given. As he had been told many times, Ketara was progressing faster in levels than an ordinary person. Somehow, he could attack better, his strokes possessing more power than all the others he had watched. His Power Strikes were at least three times as strong as any other warrior's.

Yet there was always this doubt. This doubt that drifted, like a thick fog, through his every moment…

…_Red eyes…_

Shaking his head to clear it of the memory, Ketara looked down. In his hands, he now held a Fork on a Stick, heavy armour on his body and a silly helmet upon his head. Just a year ago, he had not been able to envision himself wearing such heavy clothing, or carrying such a weapon. But here and now, he was doing both.

The mountainside was welcoming, beckoning for him to race down without any cares. Ketara gazed beyond the peaks, at the shadow of a distant forest.

_Shall I go there one day? _He wondered to himself, squinting far ahead. The trees were ominous in the distance, seeming to challenge him to enter their dark embrace. He had heard stories about it, stories about the most bizarre creatures in Victoria Island—all lurking beneath its canopy.

The Dungeon, holding so much terror that even the king feared it, so much terror that even his guards did not patrol its borders. That was where he hoped to go, but never seemed to dare to.

_Well, I must get on with my travels, _he thought to himself. _At my level, I'm sure that the Dungeon would be perfect for me to train._ _But not today. No, I'll go once all matters have been settled._

With a last sigh at the faint aroma of the forest, Ketara began on his way down the mountain. _I want to become part of Perion, _he thought. _I want a place to call "home"._

He had always felt at home among the tribe. Dances with Balrog had been kind to him, despite his weakness at the start. The great Warrior Job Master had warmed up to him so fast, and trained him well in his first footsteps as a warrior. Even outside—the people were hospitable, the potion maker and shopkeepers courteous.

Needless to say, he wanted to stay here. Not just for weeks at a time, as he always had. Forever. If he needed a "home", this was the place he wanted.

With a cry of excitement, Ketara ascended the final steps of the mountain and found himself before the towering shape of the Warrior's Sanctuary—Dances with Balrog's home of granite, totem poles and intricate inscriptions. It was protected by a spell that would veil it from the guards who occasionally came to search for him—as long as he kept the door shut.

The young warrior's hard raps on the door were almost immediately answered. The instant his face poked out the door, the Perion chief smiled. "Ketara, you've returned!" he exclaimed. "Come in, please."

Grinning in reply, Ketara entered the building, as he had on two other occasions. The interior was dark, smelling earthy, marble walls cast over by firelight from the centre. Scrolls lay everywhere. Literally _everywhere._

"Why're you here?" Dances with Balrog questioned happily. He was in his thirties, the young warrior guessed as he observed the man again. The feathered headdress on his head, reaching down to his feet, was a mark of his leadership. His muscular build was no doubt the result of many years of intense training.

Ketara sat down by the fire, while Dances with Balrog settled down in his usual position on the chair on top of the small altar at the opposite end of the building. The single room inside was small enough for conversation to be made from one end to another.

"Let me get straight to the point, then," he replied. Somehow, the Perion chief, whom Ketara had once looked up to with such awe and amazement, was now more of a close friend to him than anything else. "I want to join your tribe. How do I do that?"

"Ah, but why?" Dances with Balrog inquired, eyebrows arched in question and interest. "Why would you want to join a tribe that is not from the land of your birth?"

Ketara looked at his feet. "I—I don't really know where I was born," he replied. "I don't remember…and I want a home—"

Suddenly, a flash of darkness. The firelight dying.

A woman, hair, bright blue with sparks, red eyes glowing, clawed arm reaching out towards his head, towards his _eyes_. An explosion of unthinkable pain and redness in his vision.

Darkness again.

The fire suddenly burst to life beyond his eyelids, and Ketara blinked his eyes open, finding himself still on the ground, his breathing fast and shallow. _No…not again…_

"Ketara? Are you well?" Dances with Balrog was beside the warrior, squatting down by his side. Slowly, he pulled himself up, stunned and speechless.

"Y-yeah," he answered, voice wavering rapidly. "Just…just felt dizzy all of a sudden…"

Blowing air from his cheeks, the chief returned to his chair. "Think hard about it, Ketara," he added. "It's not that I have refused your request. But what I am worried about is if this is the right kind of life for you. As a member of the tribe, you must remain in the mountains of Perion for the rest of your life. You're not allowed to go far, as there might be times when we might require you for battle. Are you sure you want to sacrifice your freedom?"

"Y—"

Ketara stopped. He wanted a home, after spending all his life in a place that he knew wasn't really his, among others who were nothing like him. How often he had gazed at the fairies and their oddly pointy ears, their fluttering wings—and how often he had glanced at his own self, knowing why he never felt like he belonged. But to exchange home for freedom? This was something he had never considered before.

Now, as he thought about it, all the citizens of Perion—Blackbull, Mr. Thunder, the potion shopkeeper—they had never once been out of the tribe's settlement. And Ayan, she had always spoken of her father, living in Henesys all the way across the island. Ketara had always wondered why she never went there herself. Now he knew.

The boy looked up at Dances with Balrog earnestly. "Let me think, for a year or two," he replied. "I'll travel around. And after my second job, I'll tell you what I choose."

_After my second job…Better get working._

Dances with Balrog listened and nodded. "Go on, then," he said. "I'll be waiting for you. And till then…" Then he stood. "Anyway, which path do you intend to choose?"

Ketara had already chosen. Only the spear felt right in his hands. Their weight and power instilled in him almost perfect confidence and trust.

"I want to be a Spearman."

As soon as he received Dances with Balrog's nod of approval, he turned and left, not without a smile and a wave of farewell.

Outside, Ketara looked up into the glaring sun, now halfway into the sky. _Not yet, _he told himself, eyes on the great golden coin in the midst of the chalky blue of the sky. _I'll think about it all first._

For the next few hours of the afternoon, Ketara ran down to the street corner on the east side of the town, fighting stumps for experience. There was a doorway leading to a tunnel into the mountain there, and he had often seen people passing through it, but he had never dared to go. He knew that there were Wild Boars on the other side of the mountain—too powerful for him to handle.

As he wiped the streams of sweat from the side of his face, the warrior heard a call. "Hey, you there." Ketara turned. An archer stood behind him, armed with a steel-constructed bow, a smile on his face. He had short red hair, tall and tanned. "Want to go in there?"

Returning the smile, Ketara turned from the bowman to the door behind him. "I'd…rather not," he replied. The bowman's expression changed to puzzlement, then scorn.

"What level are you?" he asked. As the warrior told him his level, he smirked. "At your level, I was killing Wild Boars very well. Lousy warriors, having to go all the way to the monster in order to kill it!"

Somehow, Ketara was offended by that remark. It was simply too enraging for him to bear. "Yeah, alright, I'll go," he replied, accepting the challenge. Something at the back of his mind wondered why he was bothering to risk his life for the sake of proving this bowman wrong.

_No, this is important. I'm not lousy. Warriors aren't weak._

"After you," the bowman sneered, raising his bow higher.

Grabbing the door handle and yanking it open, Ketara stepped through and ran down the tunnel as fast as he could. _I can do it_, he thought fierily.

_No, he's playing with you, trying to get on your nerves on purpose—_

_And let him! _Pride, sudden burning pride blinded him as he exited the tunnel. It opened instantly into a bright mountainside, amidst a flaming noon sky. He could already hear barbaric grunts and roars from below the ledge on which he stood. The dread was inevitable.

"Go on," he said, pushing Ketara towards the edge. "Let's see whether you were just _pretending_."

Swallowing, but forcing fear away for the sake of his pride, the warrior leapt off the ledge.

_Oh, Ketara. This wasn't necessary._

In an instant, the roaring of the boars had engulfed him. For moments, he was frozen, frozen in stunned disbelief. But instinct kicked in at that moment, and it drove him to swing his Fork on a Stick. With a thud, it met with the unforgiving bulk of the Wild Boar nearest to him, and Ketara felt his arm jarring with the impact of his weak attack.

A horrible shriek. Ketara only barely gasped out as the Wild Boar leapt upon his body, throwing him to the ground. Only barely he felt the jab of dirty, black cloven hooves as they dug into his chest, the smell of sweat and fur expanding, expanding as breath was squeezed out of his lungs—and he gasped, tears of pain rising into his eyes.

He tightened his grip—and thanked the Goddess that the weapon was still in his hand. Ketara struggled against the weight of the creatures. His strength was slowly vanishing, his resolve thinning as he lifted the weapon. _Crap. _His arm was still pinned down by one of the animal's feet.

With one final burst of strength, Ketara focused all his energy into his right arm, and felt energy gather in his muscles. Then with a gasp, he thrust the three-pronged weapon into the Wild Boar's belly.

He felt the warmth of blood as it fell onto his body, staining his armour, and the shirt below it. The weight on him fell away, and the warrior stood, breaths coming deeply.  
The smell of blood suddenly drove all the other boars into frenzy. They surrounded him, charged forward in one single wave, mad for blood.

Suddenly unafraid, despite the pain in his entire body, he struck out at the closest boar with a Power Strike. Again, his extraordinary hidden power flowed forth, sweeping all his pain and terror away. Briefly he grinned, then turned upon the animals. The first three Wild Boars collapsed and died with a single, burning Slash Blast, their upturned bodies revealing their ruptured bellies, spewing blood into the sandy earth.

Once the drive had begun, it was hard to quell. Like a bulldozer, the warrior ploughed through the boars, tearing limb from body, head from shoulders, innards from belly. Suddenly, he was in wild joy—and joy was his strength. Again, and again, and again, he felt the point of his spear sweep through skin and shred it, throwing blood all over the place.

Gasping, covered with the reek of blood, the sun seemed to pierce right through Ketara's eyes. Around him the bodies of twenty boars languished in the dust. A brilliant shower of green exploded around him.

Level nineteen, at last.

"Not bad," he heard a voice from above. "Not bad at all." Then his tone changed. "But of course, when I was your level, _I _didn't have to suffer all that pain, all that fear and fake bravery. I simply had to do—" He fell silent, stringing a bow, his arrow aligned with one of the new Wild Boars, feasting upon its herd mate's flesh. With a single shining, blue arrow, its side was pierced, its skin bursting open. "—this."

With one last smirk, the bowman strutted away, leaving Ketara alone among the dead boars. Ketara, the one who hardly ever resented anything. Now, he felt the resentment fill him up to the brim, like water pouring into a bowl that was about to overflow. _No, it's worth it, _he thought, anger swelling. _It's worth the pain, the shame, the terror. I'll become great, you just wait. I'll prove that being a warrior doesn't make me any worse than any of the others._

The training took a lot longer than Ketara had anticipated. Everyday, he would go out into the east side of Perion, training in the valleys and on mountaintops. Everyday, he returned to his tent below the overhang. He met at least a hundred new people, some friendly, and some not so much.

But all tributaries end in the sea. In two months' time, he was ready. Ketara was now a level 20 warrior, only ten levels away from his second job advancement. And he felt, as he watched the autumn sun rise before him, ready to enter the dark Dungeon.

As he descended the last mountain, tasting a adventure in the air, Ketara searched the area for a safe passage past the Fire Boars. They swarmed Deep Valley, ready to devour any unsuspecting victims.

Ketara made his way carefully around the crags and boulders, avoiding areas where the Fire Boars congregated, until, at last, he found himself facing the uppermost layer of the trees of the Dungeon, already the bright red and gold of autumn.

Despite the joyful façade, he knew that the canopy hid some of the darkest secrets of Victoria Island. _What _is _it in there? Why's everyone so afraid of it?_

Trying not to question what the island had feared as long as history, Ketara slipped down the last few feet of the rock face.

And those were the last moments he saw the sky. After that, after he was taken into the dark shadow of the Dungeon, there was no more.

The sunlight had been extinguished, and everything was black around him.

* * *

_zethis: a shadow of things to come_

The morning was cool all around him, growing to envelope him in calm, as fields gave way to forest and birdcalls smoothed his frazzled nerves. As he walked, Zethis began to ponder his Dad's advice. The king had increased the security around Henesys, and if anyone caught him entering without authorisation, he would be send straight to prison.

Now, Zethis began to ponder his job choices. He wanted to become a warrior. He always had. They were always the only ones with blood on their weapons. They were strong in body and heart. They went straight in and finished the battle with their strength, never relying on the safety of distance. _They _were true representations of fortitude.

_Perion, _he tossed the little thought about in his head. _Through the trees, up the mountains. Oh…how long more will that be?_

By mid-morning, the young traveller arrived at the edge of the town, where the forests finally ended. There, he froze with awe and unexpected fear—a tall wall had been erected around the little town, dark in the midst of the greenery. Already the black gate loomed ahead of him, at the end of the winding stone-paved road. Stopping in his tracks, he watched as a horse-drawn cart clattered to a stop between two guards, and they began to check it.

_The king is ruthless. The guards will try to find reasons to arrest you. They want you captured._

Keeping Dad's warnings close, he proceeded, the lump in his throat growing bigger.

With a shiver, Zethis came to a stop close to the gates, blood pounding louder in his ears. Here was he, in the open, vulnerable. Two stern rows of guards girt the road, their boisterous calls and glinting armour ruining the morning calm.

And before he got another second to observe, those voices came to claim him. "What is your business, boy?" the first guard in line questioned, turning his helmeted head in a way that made him shiver. The man's eyes were invisible behind his visor. "Why are you alone?"

Zethis tried to smile, failing terribly. "I—I'm just…passing," he stammered, keeping his gaze trained upon his chest armour. The guard didn't respond, but Zethis still dared not to move, to breathe.

"You have no authorisation." The beginner stepped back, glancing away, ready to run all the way back to his Dad and his old home, knowing that all along, he would never have made it far.

There was a shudder of armour, and suddenly Zethis realised that the guard's head was shaking. "But you are simply a boy," he murmured, voice soft. Suddenly, he raised his visor to reveal the youthful face hidden behind it. "You can't be a danger to us. Persecuting you isn't…right. I'll make an exception for you today. Don't tell anyone how you got inside."

Pulling the visor down again while Zethis trembled, the guard turned to his companions. "He's clear," he yelled, face hidden once more. All at once, tThe truth pierced through the clouds of his mind—and he remained trapped in dumbness for almost a minute. Were they really doing everything only under the king's orders? Inside each suit of armour, was there really another ordinary man, pledged to the tyrant's service?

He would have pursued the thought, had the sound of wooden cartwheels clattering over the cobblestones not made him snap back to reality. "Go on, boy," the guard said, voice kind. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Zethis," he replied bravely.

"Ah—Esharo here, nice to meet you."

Bowing at the guard's smile, the boy raced through the now open pedestrian gate, gasps of thanks still falling form his lips.

The gate soon gave way to the city within, and as Zethis walked it, he felt his apprehension mount. But what he saw inside, he wasn't prepared for. As the walls slipped past him and opened into light, the talk and bustle came to surround him. All too suddenly, he realised that he stood edge of a huge marketplace.

The boy took a moment to hold his breath. Instead of a cold grey city with angular buildings, there were sandy golden roads outlined by bright sprigs of flowers, grass and leaves lush. Beyond that, the marketplace's many roofs were red-tiled, vines climbing around the thin stone pillars, within which hundreds of people stood and traded goods, the commotion grand and loud.

Seeing the coins they held suddenly made him remember that he didn't have any mesos. _Great! Now how am I supposed to get lunch? The first day, and I'm already failing!_

Coming to rest in front of a tree house, Zethis began to think about earning money. _Oh, money. How could I be so dumb? _He could sell something of his to get the necessary earnings. The necklace? He decided against that. That necklace was his only clue to his true origins. What about his book? Then it wouldn't have served its purpose. Sighing, he sat upon the roots of the great plant, and began to rack his thoughts for ideas. Shreds of his father's voice slipped through his consciousness, spinning in his ears…

"Hello? Where are your parents? Are you here to become a bowman?"

Giving an undignified yelp, Zethis glanced upwards. Before him stood a woman, wielding her bow with much grace. She had a fair face, with blue eyes and pale blonde hair—_same as mine,_he vaguely mused—falling over elf ears. _Elf…_

Far too beautiful, he then noted. Her voice had a strange, musical accent. And on her forehead…was a circlet that he knew belonged to only one person.

"Y-you—ah-Athena…Pierce…" his weak voice trailed away in his shock. She smiled with much calm, and nodded.

"Are you lost? Or do you want to become a bowman?" she asked again. "You can come in, either way."

Not daring to disagree, he followed her into the tree through a wood door—which he suddenly noticed—and up her creaky stairs.

"W-w-where are we—" he gasped.

"Only my home!" she replied, to his vehement disbelief.

Emerging into the main room of Athena's home, Zethis gasped once more, at the ribbons of sunlight streaming through the window bars. The walls were woody and homely, gently curved to the shape of the tree. There were shelves of practically _everything _inside—herbs, wooden ornaments, dried mushrooms. Nothing like the castle he had always envisioned. Nothing at all…

"Sit, sit!" With another smile, Athena shoved a large beanbag chair out from inside her cupboard. Zethis settled upon it, while the Bow Mistress walked to her worktable, pulling out her chair.

"I'm…I'm…not here to be a bowman," he quickly said. She nodded, propping her head up on her elbows.

"Life can get really boring around here," she commented. "I was ever so glad when you turned up downstairs. First non-bowman-to-be to actually come around this place. You don't really look strong enough to become a bowman yet, anyhow."

Zethis smiled nervously, murmuring an apology. She shook her head and rose, her ever-pleasant smile gracing her lips. "Don't be so shy," she said encouragingly. "I'm not a monster or anything like that…"

"Um…" Zethis tested how his voice sounded in front of the Bowman Job Master. He couldn't believe it. The fact still hadn't seemed to register in his head—that he was here. He couldn't believe that he was sitting in front of Athena Pierce, in one of her beanbag chairs. He couldn't believe that Athena Pierce _had _beanbag chairs. "I—I don't believe this," he managed. "I'm…here…"

"Everyone thinks I'm such a great person," Athena murmured. "I'm not really that great, or that important; I'm actually on the run—"

She leapt out of her chair. "Oh great Goddess! I forgot!" Zethis leant back in shock. Leaping from her seat in the most undignified manner imaginable, she stumbled down the staircase, the wood screeching under her weight. Somewhere far down, the door slammed shut. She returned moments later, following a chorus of creaking stairs.

"I can't _believe _I was so careless!" she gasped, sitting down again. "As long as the door is open, the king's servants can see my house. I've got to close the door every time—in case the king sends another round of policemen to find me. Isn't it silly that I'm the only one in town who's on the run?" Then she looked up at the roof and suddenly added, "Have you been to Kerning before?"

Zethis, taken by surprise, shook his head. "Never been anywhere, other than here," he replied. "I—just began travelling today…"

Athena nodded, observing him from top down. "If you'll allow me to say, you—uh…don't look too experienced," she said. "But anyway, I heard that Kerning's really the best place to live for people on the run. It houses a huge number of thieves, but I guess the confusing-ness of the place makes it good for _everyone _to hide in."

"Really?" Zethis replied, interested. "That must be why the Dark Lord lives there, then—I've heard that he lives in such a well-hidden place that he doesn't need to worry about the guards finding him."

Athena simply gazed on into the wall opposite. "Glad to know that," she whispered, not really there. Shaking her head suddenly, the Bow Mistresslooked up at Zethis, trying to smile.

"What do you want to become?" she inquired. "Are you even planning on getting a job?"

"I'm—yeah," he replied. "I'm thinking of becoming a warrior." Athena nodded thoughtfully.

"Train around here first," she suggested to him. "Then when you're around level eight, you should go northeast through Kerning to Perion. It's easier that way than through Ellinia. Oh, and if you happen to meet my best friend's daughter Ralinn by any chance, do say hello to her for me. I heard that she lives there now—"

A knock resounded from the door below. Athena nodded and stood. "Must be another bowman-to-be," she said. "Great to have spoken to you, er…"

"Zethis," he answered, standing as well. _I told her my name! _"T-thanks, Mistress Athena Pierce…" She simply nodded.

"Oh yes, just to aid you," she added, digging in her huge wardrobe and finally producing a sword. "You will find this useful in the hunting grounds." Athena tossed the weapon to the boy, who managed to catch it as it fell towards the floor. Athena apologised. The sword was short and thin, its blade heavy in his hands. It was nothing like the long, beautiful weapons he had so often seen others carrying. But it was still a weapon; the first he had ever held. And it felt wonderful.

"Oh yes, be careful when travelling," she said, a shadow coming to her eyes. "The guards are everywhere. They'll arrest you if they find you taking a job test."

With a last goodbye from the Bow Mistress, Zethis ran down the noisy stairs and left. He saw a boy around his age come in on the way, but they didn't exchange so much as a glance.

_Now, to stay alive, _Zethis wondered to himself as he walked around the cheery village._ I've gotta make money. But how…_

He recalled hearing from his father that some monsters held money. Looking down at the sword he held in his right hand, he realised that that would be the very best way to earn money. And perhaps he would come a little closer to the required level of 10…

Standing up with the sword high in hand, he found his way back to the main road, where he saw a signboard pointing the way to the Henesys Hunting Ground.

Fifteen minutes later, Zethis was on the western boundary of Henesys, where a hill stood in the middle of a sprawling field, the grounds crowded with dozens of people of higher levels. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he looked down at the diminutive weapon in his weak arms.

At that moment, a snail with a gleaming blue shell crept by. _Ah! A snail—shouldn't be too hard…_

Raising the sword up in the way he had imagined it to be used, he brought the side of the blade down on the tall shell. It gave a squeal of pain, its shell slightly cracked in one spot—but nothing more. Surprised, he directed more energy into his next swing, determined only to kill his very first monster.

Again, it squealed. Its shell cracked further, but now, it had turned to face him, its bright, wide eyes angry.

_No, no! Stay away! _The sword went down onto its shell again, making it call out with fury. As it came towards him, he tried to send the blade point-first into its vulnerable flesh, but it only managed to bounce off the front of its shell.

A moment before the huge blue snail touched him, he used the sword to shield off its oncoming attack, holding it back with all his strength. Thinking of the only thing he could do in this situation, he stepped aside and lifted the sword, allowing it a stunned second of confusion, before delivering one last, full-weight blow with the edge of the sword's blade. One last call of terror saw it melting away into the ground.

But not a glint of gold fell out of the snail as it vanished. Frowning, Zethis sighed. He had heard that these blue snails were some of the weakest monsters in the world, and yet, he had taken such a long time to defeat it. And for no reward too.

As he watched the snails creep by before his eyes, he leaned back on the bale of hay he had found, exhausted all of a sudden. His sword was held loosely in his right hand, and he dug it deep into the hay.

_I don't think I can do this, _he admitted to himself. _I'm already stuck, here. How will I ever make it all the way to Perion? _Somehow, he felt like simply giving up—like going back to his old father, the one who had brought him up for ten years, and living with him for the rest of his life as the farmer he had always thought he would become.

But again he recalled everything. He remembered passing the guards of Henesys, remembered meeting Athena Pierce in person. She had told him how to get to Perion. And now, he had a weapon. He had entered the Hunting Ground, despite his fears. He had killed his first monster.

Here he was, surrounded by snails. The rest were higher up the hill, killing huge Orange Mushrooms and even greater monsters—_oh, those godly pigs!_

When would _he _get there? _When will I be strong enough to lift a weapon that can kill them?_

In that moment, a green snail tried to slip past him unnoticed, but instead of recoiling, he steeled himself. No, he would start now. It was far, but this was a step in the right direction.

Springing up, he raised his amateur's sword once more. With full momentum, he struck—and two smashes with the sharp edge managed to destroy it. Zethis' heart leapt as three coins fell out of its broken shell. Eagerly, he snatched them up, relishing the texture of his very first earnings in his fingers.

Stuffing those into one of the pockets of his haversack, he looked about for more monsters to kill, suddenly sure of himself—for the road seemed so much shorter now.

As the sun broke through the very last layers of clouds to touch the horizon, Zethis finally decided to round up his day. With one last thud, he sliced the blue snail's head off. The rest of it left untouched, the creature's white body sank into the ground, leaving its shell whole and perfect for collection. A flash of green lit his vision for the second time that day, and with that brightness came sudden invigoration.

At last, he was level three, and five hundred mesos richer. His verdict for the day: _Not too bad._

Trudging up the pathway, Zethis followed a few higher levelled people into the dusky town. He wondered where he could find an inn or hotel to stay, but clueless as he was, he didn't dare to approach any of the people around him, too much afraid that they might mock him for his weakness, or for something else. Some had already noticed him at the hunting ground for his clothing—white shirt, blue shorts, brown sandals. He had to be thankful already that no one had come to bully him.

"Hey there." Upon hearing the call, Zethis turned, heart racing, and was shocked to see the White Knight who had been kill-stealing from him for a few minutes earlier on. "Sorry about just now."

He shook his head, too alarmed to be bothered by that incident. _How many more unexpected meetings must I endure? Oh, I wish I were back at home…_

Heedless, the knight came strolling up to him, his huge mace swinging lazily in his left hand. By reflex, the shy boy backed away. "You fight well," he commented. "When did you start training? Last week?"

Zethis stepped a little further away. "Um…um…t-today?" he replied.

"You started training _today?_" the tall warrior gasped. "You're a rare talent then. Didn't you notice that you're stronger than most others?" The boy shook his head nervously. "Level ones usually take around three hits to kill a normal snail, and you could with _one_!"

"The snail…well…just died when I hit it," he stammered. "Nothing much to it, they're…weak, aren't they?"

"You don't understand, do you?" the knight tried to explain. "You're three times as strong as an ordinary beginner!" Zethis looked down at his sandals, blushing at his compliment. There was uneasy silence for a while.

"Um…sir? Do you know…where I might stay for the night?" His voice was still weak, but at least he had found the courage to present his request. The knight smiled at him in the dying sunlight and nodded.

"It costs three hundred to rent a room for a day for a beginner," he said kindly. "I'll show you the way if you want, it's pretty near my home." The White Knight's sincere smile finally won Zethis over. Nodding and hoping that it wasn't some kind of trick, he began to follow the kind youth into the twilight

The two went through at least a hundred different streets, all full of people going home. They passed a long queue on the main road, some lazing in horse-drawn carts, some on foot, heavy sacks over their backs. They filled the entire street, all too tired even to look up and see who had just brushed past.

"They're all waiting for their turn to leave the Henesys gates," the knight explained while Zethis watched. "Sometimes, the last person only manages to leave after midnight."

The boy soon came to realise that this was what his Dad had gone through every day of his life. He had stood in line each day, waited till near midnight to go home, to the child who wasn't even his own son…

Slowly, they left the line of tired people behind, and they shrank between the houses, Zethis looking on forlornly behind, as if he could feel their sorrow.

"Here we are!" In the darkening skylight, Zethis saw a long building before the two. It was barely taller than his old home, the walls entirely wooden. But the light in the many windows along its length and the sound of merry talk, audible from outside, betrayed its warmth.

"Well?" the White Knight murmured with satisfaction, folding his arms. Zethis bowed in thanks. "Have a nice day, um…may I know your name, if you don't mind?"

"I'm Zethis," he replied after much hesitation. Three unfamiliar people in a day.

Amused at his lack of confidence, the knight turned to look at the sky. "Should be getting back," he commented. "Nice meeting you, Zethis. My name is Hyrien, by the way—level seventy-four White Knight."

_White Knight. _Waving one last time with a small smile, Zethis walked over the uneven, stony pathway, towards the door that he could hardly see. _The Hill House. _The signboard swung over the doorway. Shivering suddenly in the wind, the boy turned—but by then, Hyrien had long vanished down the street.

_Well, I have to learn to do this._

An hour later, Zethis had rented himself a room, and he hurried to the common dining room for dinner. After eating the best meal he had ever had in his life, he felt his exhaustion return. It wasn't bad tiredness, though; it was the kind that told him that he had done a lot that day, that made him feel satisfied with himself. It was the kind of tiredness that he felt after a day helping his father—_foster father_—to chop firewood. A sigh dragged itself through his lips, and he blinked sleepily.

As he lay down to sleep, the boy took in the warmth of the blankets with gratefulness, and at the same time speculated about his future. How long would it be till he became a warrior? How long till he finally got to his second job?

_Ah yes, my job choice._

He already knew. He wanted to become a White Knight, just like Hyrien. He wanted to become as strong, as sincere as him. He wanted to take that path.

That was his last thought, before his eyes closed for the night.

* * *

_shirion: into the world_

_Why, why? _

It was always the same question, the same question everyday. The level 36 Fighter had asked himself that question, right from the start. Work, work, work. He had known nothing else, for as long as his memory allowed. Everyday it was the same—rough, heavy sacks tied to his back, repeated trips from harbour to ship and back again as his skin was rubbed raw, the skin of his back and of his feet.

He hated it, the way he had no choice but to stand and take orders, while the guards owned ultimate power over him and his fellow slaves.

He was thirteen still; why was it that they were so cruel to someone so young? They all said that they were under orders by some "king". What kind of a _king _was this?

Again, the male youth gazed up into the singing canopies, their voices like that of rustling rivers. Winter was close, he could tell from the colour of all the leaves of Ellinia. And winter meant nothing anymore. Not serenity, not beauty. Only torture, struggle, work.

Shirion turned to observe his mates as they laboured away, dragging huge crates up the ramp onto the ship that was docked at the jetty. Their sorrow wove itself onto his brow—but then he saw someone, and felt a smile slip across his features. On board the ship, at the highest point of the mast, balanced his good friend along the narrow beams—a girl who had spent all her life tying the sails and ropes in the Station. She, too, hated this life. She, too, longed so deeply for escape. Her name was Akera.

A year younger than him, Akera had always been that bit closer than everyone else in the Station. She never spoke much, and only words of anger ever left her lips. She had a sharp tongue, and behind her icy blue eyes, there was this ever-burning hatred, masked by her pale face and snow-white hair. She was the most distant, yet somehow the dearest. It was the countless things they shared, no doubt.

The two of them were the only ones with jobs among the slaves. Akera was a Fire Poison Wizard. She had been ever since Shirion had met her—a child prodigy.

The sight of her made Shirion recall the old days, locked so deep in the past. He recalled his flight into the world, five years ago. He remembered those years, those three years of running away—during which he had trained himself to the high thirties, and received his second job.

But his freedom, as always, was not to last. The king's police force eventually caught up, and at eleven years old, he was returned straight back into the cruelty of his old life. His short stint of freedom had ended, but it only made him thirst for more. It was as if a gate had been opened—and the endless longing could no longer be quelled. He wanted to flee again, to drink even deeper from the river.

To the rest of the world, Shirion appeared severe and unmoved. All he ever showed to them was a stern face, an expressionless gaze of brown. But inside—deep inside, he was a dreamer. He wanted to see the world. He wanted to be all that he could be. He didn't want his life to be stifled by another, a human being greater than himself—no, he would never let himself end this way.

Somehow, he knew that the breaking point had finally been reached. With a deep sigh, he tossed the sack down and leaned against it. With some old regret, the Fighter glanced about at his friends, his companions in hardship. He watched Akera, a rueful smile curving his lips slightly. It would be a long time. He wished he didn't have to leave so much behind.

It was time for him to try again. Time for him to cut himself free from the vines of the forest station. This time, he wouldn't find himself in their nets again, wouldn't fall into their traps. _I swear it. _The night sky and the rivers could wait no longer. He would run today.

_Today._

The evening passed in a feverish blur. Nightfall came quickly. Shirion lay awake by the jetty, kept lucid by the perpetual hunger in his belly and the promise in the wind. Sitting up, he glanced about at the others, all asleep from total exhaustion.

_Today, yes. I can feel it…_

Standing quickly, he glanced about for any sign of the patrolling guard. Nothing moved within his vision, and so, readying himself though his heart throbbed, Shirion stepped over the sleeping bodies, and raced lightly towards the weapon store in the shipyard.

The quietude of the night was ironically nerve-wracking. The Fighter's hands were shaking as he struggled to lift an axe off the rack as silently as possible, when he heard footsteps from behind. A sudden burst of adrenaline swept him up, his heart rate doubling as the winds were doused in ice. _Who is it?_

Cradling his axe in his arms, Shirion whipped around and stepped forward. In the darkness, he felt his foot meet with a metal bar—and he froze, terrified, as it rang loudly.

"Who's that?" a shout suddenly echoed, low but feminine. And thankfully familiar.

As the person's silhouette appeared at the door, framed against the sky, Shirion let out a breath of relief. "You?" she went on. _Akera. _Her ghostly pale hair shimmered down her shoulders like a moonlit river.

"I'm—" Should he trust her?

Akera was before him in an instant. She seemed to know where all the metal objects were, and avoided them with ease. "Are you trying to _escape _now? If you get caught, it's none of my fault!" Her voice was a harsh whisper.

"I…yeah," he finally conceded. "I can't stand it here anymore. I have to get away—"

"With all that noise, you're not getting _anywhere_!" Akera snapped back. "You're completely _useless _as escape. And here I thought that you were the law-abiding kind." She glanced briefly backwards, into the leaf-girt window into the night. "Well, if we're going to escape, we'd better hurry!"

Shirion blinked. "We?" he questioned incredulously.

"What, don't want to give me a chance?"

Far too glad for company, Shirion allowed Akera to lead him out of the shipyard—almost failing to rein in his excitement. As their faces met with the seaside wind, his breaths quickened, and all at once he felt a new adventure bearing upon his life, ready to begin.

"I've worked out a safe way past the guards," the Fire Poison wizard beside him whispered. Shirion swallowed. Normally, Akera's ideas worked without a glitch—if their unconventionality didn't first do him in.

And he was right to believe that it would be unconventional. Almost as soon as they arrived back at the main station, the female magician turned suddenly off the road, and proceeded to the edge of the branches. With a light leap, she was on the outer parapet of the Station. A very bewildered Shirion held his breath as he followed, fearing what might come next. Wind buffeted his face and whirled through his long hair. Breathing deep with sudden exhilaration and nerve, he unbound his ponytail and allowed his hair to be tossed by the gales.

"Hey, no time to enjoy!" Akera whispered. Nodding quickly, Shirion continued to follow. The two crept slowly along the narrow wooden parapet along the exterior of the Ellinia Station, bowing beneath the windows, Shirion too stiff with fear and excitement to utter a word. All around him, the world rocked up and down—but he knew that it was only the branch that held the Station up waving in the wind. Yet before him, Akera's footing was sure and swift, from years upon the masts—and with great caution, struggling to balance out the weight of his axe, he followed with a sense of inferior submission.

At this point, the Mage came to a stop. The other end of the parapet was so close now, and beyond it, the Station gate was visible. The dark figures of the armoured guards were still at their posts. With great urgency, Akera gestured at him not to make a sound. He stiffened up even more, afraid that the sentinels might hear his heart beating.

Akera didn't seem half as scared as him. She confidently pointed at a thick branch that passed under the Ellinia Station nearby, leading on into the darkness. This was the _main _branch. The ancient branch that carried the weight of the entire building.

Shirion backed away a little, suddenly realising what she meant. The branch was their straight path out of the Station…if he didn't first die falling from it. But ever-steely, the female Wizard shook her head with a silent berating smile, and placed her left foot on it—then her right. All of a sudden, she was balancing upon the branch, without any handhold in close sight. The branch shivered ever so slightly, and after that, she proceeded forth. The Fighter swallowed.

Within moments, she had made it a few feet along the branch. Her silver hair shone under the magic torches. "Well?" she mouthed out to him. Shirion glanced up at her. Gulping, he stepped onto the branch, as she had, slowly shifting his weight onto it. It began to shake, suddenly—and he nearly yelled out in fear. What had seemed like tiny bobs from the parapets now almost shook him off.

Slowly, they inched their way along the branch in the middle of the darkness. "A little way more," Akera whispered, over and over. "A little way more." He smiled up at her, barely keeping his balance. She snatched his hand to steady him. Beneath them, the great woody limb was strong, trustworthy, almost _warm_. Soon, all fear vanished—and he began to relish the taste of freedom.

The warrior glanced back into the dark Station. _Free. _That notion struck him like a sudden wind. _At last…_

Akera didn't turn back once. But she did, finally, as they arrived at the crossroads on the branches—only to say goodbye. He knew that they would have to part ways here. _She won't go where I want. She will have her own dreams. _

Blinking at the Wizard before him, within the embrace of the winds, he thanked her.

For the first time in all his life, Shirion saw Akera smile.

"Well," she whispered. "It's all up to you now." Shirion nodded and turned to the branches. _Where do I go?_

He knew immediately. Towards the goal of his life. He would simply _travel_, travel and defy the law. Towards what destination, he didn't know—as long as he remained a free person.

"Goodbye," he replied, waving, half hoping that Akera would say that she wanted to follow him. But she didn't, only continued to smile, and slowly, he stepped away onto the next pathway.

_Goodbye…for who knows how long?_

* * *

_zethis: one step closer  
_

Finally. As the Beginner looked up at the cliffs, he knew that he had made it. Perion, the warriors' land, home of Chief Dances with Balrog.

He was a step closer to his dream.

He was already level nine, and his next level-up was impending; he could feel it coming soon, in the air. Zethis had come a long way since his lowly beginnings in Henesys. He had travelled through Kerning City, under Athena Pierce's advice. An amazing place, it was: the splendid electric lights, the people walking the streets without any fear of the law—for there wasn't any. Not to mention, the lodging there was excellent.

Three months, the journey had taken him. Three months, through the course of autumn. Finally, winter was here, bedecking the Perion mountainsides with whiteness as it descended from the cloaks of the sky.

The young boy still wore his old attire—white shirt and old shorts, along with his considerably more tattered sandals. But now, there was a red cap upon his head—he had bought that in Kerning. A sweater also served to keep him warm in the increasingly frigid weather, and in his hands was a double-bladed axe, which he had bought from the Kerning City weapon shop.

Zethis ascended the mountain pathways, knowing that his advancement awaited just a few mountains beyond. The anticipation gave him amazing strength, strength he had never known before.

By sunset, he had already traversed the first two of many mountains, along an abandoned road that the king had long stopped guarding. The sun now sinking beneath the edge of Perion, the warrior-to-be found himself a small hollow in the rock face to rest in.

All the mountains looked the same to him; even the monsters resembled each other—stumps of varying sizes and bark colour, seeming to have taken on a life of their own, their dark bark standing out like tiny dots against the thick snow in the distance. In the barren winter wilderness, he suddenly realised in his hunger that he was clueless as to where to obtain his dinner.

The boy tried to ignore the cold as he curled up in the uncomfortable hollow—but as the dark hours passed, hunger gnawed at him more insistently, and finally he could take it no longer. Standing, he let the blood return to his numbing legs, and he began to walk about.

_Goddess curse my stupidity! _He thought. _Where will I find any food out here, in the night?_

That question answered itself. Before his next footfall, there was a loud grunt from the next bend of the road. Glancing about, his heart started to pound warmly in his ears.

_What is it?_

A yellow brilliance had suddenly appeared, glinting off the ice of the mountainside. Zethis backed away—and leapt back as a streak of blazing fire rushed round the bend. Tusks gleamed upon its frothy snout—it was a fearsome boar, its shape cast into relief by the mane of fire crackling upon its back. Perhaps it had smelt him—a weak, helpless human child out in the open—but whatever it was, he knew that it was after food, just as he was.

_Food. Oh, Goddess. No._

Like the wind, Zethis fled down the slope of the mountain, not caring when his feet slid, not caring when he almost tripped over rocks and ledges. This creature, he knew, was something he could never face on his own.

_Or can I? The fire. If the fire dies…it dies._

Clutching the handle of his fruit knife hard, Zethis whipped around to face his pursuer. He saw the blinding flame on its back, growing menacingly brighter, its flaming red eyes, and the two sharp tusks gleaming on either side of its mouth.

Willing himself to stand his ground, Zethis waited for its attack. The creature suddenly leapt towards him in a bone-crushing body slam. _Stand. Stand. _Hands working faster than his mind, he gave a cry and thrust out the blade as it flew at him.

The creature impaled itself upon his knife, but the impact of the blow wrenched the weapon from his hand. It lay there, on the ground, wheezing heavily in a pool of blackness, its flame flickering violently.

_The fire. The fire. Put out the fire. _

Zethis threw himself down upon its body. His legs crunched in the snow, but his body fell upon the guttering fire, smothering it. The smell of melting rayon mingled with smoke, and the boy knew that his sweater had seen its last day. But there he lay, panting, the heat dying down under his stomach, sweat gleaming in rivers on his skin. In that dizzying moment, green flashed before his eyes—

_Level ten. Yes._

Zethis finally got up, five minutes later, limbs still shivering. He tugged the fruit knife out of the animal's stomach, turning away as more blood leaked out. Then, he sat at the food of the mountain, cutting chunks of meat off its back, where its own flames had barbecued its flesh. Ravenous, he ate. He was still breathing hard with terror, his arms and legs too weak to move, but at the least, he was grateful for his life.

_What made me do that? _He wondered to himself.

Zethis slept well that night, thanks to utter exhaustion. He had managed to find another cave in the next mountain, safe from the snow.

The next morning saw some of the lowest snows being melted. That made his journey uphill even harder, but in the end, he managed to scramble all the way up to his destination, only barely.

Finally. As he finally crested the mountain, the entire village of tents rose into sight, spread out over the entire mountaintop. _Already…here? _Zethis pinched himself to make sure it was real.

Climbing upwards for his life's worth, Zethis watched as that building at the top, the Warrior's Sanctuary, grew larger in his vision.

Dances with Balrog answered his knocks quickly. The Job Master was shocked when he saw the beginner, to say the least.

"My goodness, where have you been? You're a complete mess," he gasped with an unbefitting grin. Zethis drew his eyes away from his headdress, and looked down at his outfit. He _was _a complete mess. His clothes were ripped all over; his sandals hanging from two straps each. He felt himself blush.

"I'm—I'm sorry, I should have…presented myself better…"

"Ah, no problems, lad," the chief answered cheerily. "The mark of a true warrior. You're here to become one, aren't you?" Zethis nodded very slowly, eyes still cast down at his clothes. "Look up, then. Don't be shy."

Sadly, the boy _was _shy. After some gentle mental coaxing, he did so—and to his terror, Dances with Balrog took hold of his face. "You have the makings of a warrior," he said, voice suddenly solemn. Zethis felt his soul freeze with his unnervingly steady tone. "With the strength I give to you, I believe that you will become a great person. Do not ever use it to turn to darkness." Then he took in a deep breath. "I hereby name you…a Warrior."

Zethis saw a flash of white light around him, and for a few seconds, he suddenly found himself flying over a vast field of stars. He heard a male voice calling out, "Come with me…" Then a female one saying, "Do you wish…" Their voices echoed around him, though he was in the middle of the sky. There was a sudden shower of shooting stars, a distant call for help, an endless meadow of snow.

Suddenly, it vanished. Zethis was before Dances with Balrog again, in the same building, on the same floor. He suddenly felt dizzy.

"Well, I won't ask you what you saw," the chief said. "But it must have been quite a lot. Normally, my magic makes the receiver see flashes of the future." There was a pause.

Then he added, "You're different. I could feel all that energy in you. I've only felt the same energy three other times…the last time was when I christened that boy…What was his name, he just visited two months ago…Ketara, yes. You're the first to show such power, after him. And then there's Shirion, and Thaemis, ah…"

While the chief revelled blissfully in his memories, Zethis suddenly realised that he was a warrior now. A true warrior. The fact was almost too overwhelming.

"Alright," Dances with Balrog finally said, presenting the skill book to the boy, who took it with much eagerness. "Have fun with your new skills, and remember never, _never_ to turn to darkness. I know that a great future awaits you, …your name?"

"Zethis," he answered, now used to giving his name to people he almost didn't know at all.

"Yes, ah…Zethis. I'd better remember that name. Congratulations! Would you like a drink in celebration?"

After some polite, conservative refusal, Zethis exited the stuffy Warrior's Sanctuary. Outside, the snows seemed whiter, the skies brighter. Everything felt new. Everything seemed like a gift.

_A warrior! I wonder what Dad would say if he knew…_

This time, though, Zethis chose not to pursue that thought. He had to move forward now; there was no time to relive old memories.

* * *

_ketara: shadowy winter_

It was winter. Ketara could tell, even in the midst of the darkness, from the gusts of cold wind that were flying through the treetops, rustling the leaves. He could tell, despite the fact that the leaves of the Dungeon had not fallen. He could tell, because the air was growing steadily colder, so cold that it made his fingers numb.

Ketara had already been living in the Dungeon for at least two months. It was dark there, so dark that he followed his paths by sound alone. He had been afraid from the first moment he had entered.

Right from the beginning, he had not been able to _see_. His first day in the Dungeon had been a total, blind terror. Everywhere he went, he could only hear, hear the footsteps of the creatures in the dark. He could not fight, could not even aim his attacks. And so he had hurried on through the darkness, searching fruitlessly for the tiny shrine that was said to be at the heart of this impossible labyrinth.

Ketara had already gotten used to living in the dark. Everyday, he would wait for an animal to pass him by, and in the blackness, he would somehow grab hold of it and kill it with his Fork on a Stick. Then, because he didn't have a choice, he would eat it raw, cutting off its head and gutting it first. Blood tasted horrible, but he had to do it to survive. Water was easily available in the streams of the Dungeon.

Two months on, the warrior had resumed training. The longer he stayed in the Dungeon, the more accustomed he grew to finding his way in the dark. His sense of hearing had grown so acute that he didn't have to see a monster to know that it was there. He had even gained some sort of augmented night vision from extensive…_exposure _to darkness. He was now level 22, two levels higher than when he had first entered the Dungeon.

The warrior glanced about, searching the area around him for any sign, any trace at all, of a monster. He was freezing, to say the least; the depths of midwinter were arriving. But he didn't have anything to wear for the weather.

Silently, the warrior trudged through the tangled roots, his innate optimism keeping his footsteps swift and his spirits light. A short way away, Ketara saw, distinctly, the gaping mouth of the cave. He could hear every sort of nightmarish sound echoing from within, making him shiver with more than just the cold.

Then, in his silent musing, he heard a rustle. Glancing upwards, he felt the sudden shower of leaves, and he gave a gasp of surprise as they fell upon his face.

_Probably a monster, _he convinced himself, walking on in search of training grounds.

But this thing was intent on chasing Ketara. He tried to move to other areas, but the rustling and falling leaves kept following.

"Who's that?" he finally called up into the treetops. In that instant, there was a flash of black above, and instantly, he felt a sharp tug at his belt. The warrior spun around, but saw no one.

_Is this…some sort of prank? Wow, native Dungeon pranksters?_

"Hey, if you want to chat or something, I wouldn't mind," he called out again.

Suddenly, Ketara heard laughter. Turning again, considerably more frightened now, he found that he couldn't see anyone, but heard footsteps. Light footsteps that barely crackled in the leaves.

"You're definitely not used to living in the Dungeon," a mocking female voice said. She was joined by a male.

"Yeah, look at how _blind _he is_,_" he muttered. "You didn't realise that my sister took all your money, did you?"

Ketara gasped out, not knowing how to respond. Finally, after two months or so, he had found humans. _Company! _But they had chosen to introduce themselves by stealing his money.

"Thank the Goddess there are people around here!" he cried in reply, grinning. "I was starting to think that I was all alone out here… So why are you here?"

The girl came forward, and finally, Ketara could see her. She had dark hair and clothes, her facial features vaguely beautiful in the shadows—though he could hardly make them out. She was about his height, a little taller, and he assumed that she was about his age.

"_Why? _We've lived here all our lives," she replied. "We get our clothes from people we _kill."_

"And we should be killing you too," her brother added in a growl. His staff suddenly began to shine red, but the girl stopped him with a hand gesture.

"No, no, don't kill him," she said, slightly angry. "He's the most interesting, and good-looking, person who's ever come round here before…" She quickly returned her attention to him. "Why don't we show you the way out?"

Her brother, silent for a while already, stepped forward as well. _Twins, _Ketara mused.

"I see what you mean by 'good-looking'," he commented. The warrior glanced away from them, blushing with a smile despite the situation. "Alright, we'll show you the way out. Which side, north or south?"

He pondered their question for moments. _North, to Perion, or south, to Henesys?_

With much deliberation, he made his choice. "You can take me somewhere far away if you want, but I'm not going to leave the Dungeon!" Ketara finally exclaimed.

Both seemed slightly taken aback. Still dumbstruck, the girl nodded. "Fine," she groaned. "Silly kid, wanting to stay. We'll take you to Sleepywood."

"Sleepywood? The shrine?" Ketara asked with deepening hopefulness, silently giving a cheer.

"Where else?" the dark-haired boy asked, eyes flashing with incredulity. Wordless, they lead him through the trees, walking as if they knew all the roads and pathways of the forest by heart. The deep forest, named the "Dungeon"—it was certainly an appropriate name.

An hour of swift walking soon took him to the town's edge, and Ketara found himself being amazed at how silently the twins proceeded. Dim orange torchlight soon showed through the spaces between the tree branches. Squinting ahead, he saw the clear outline of hut roofs. The holy shrine had few inhabitants.

"Thank you so much!" Ketara exclaimed to the two Dungeon residents, a smile filling his face. "I promise, promise, _promise_ to leave you alone from today onwards!"

The girl shook her head at his words. "You're too friendly with strangers for your own good," she sighed. "But don't worry, we mean you no harm at all."

"No harm?" the boy replied.

"Oh, just shut up for once, Rino!"

Ignoring the fact that she had just disclosed her brother's name, the girl left, almost immediately followed by him—of course, he first shot him a dark glare.

Regardless, Ketara continued to muse over the encounter with some fascination. _That was pretty cool! Have they been living here all their lives? How'd they end up here in the first place? Why don't they live in Sleepywood?_

Ah, Sleepywood. Gazing out into the torchlit little shrine, he proceeded towards the stone arch and allowed the beloved warmth and magical quiet to settle upon his soul.

* * *

_ralinn: clues_

In the Orbis inn, far over the sky, Ralinn dreamt. She could hear nine different melodies around her, all singing different words, all in harmony.

Nine different voices, nine different temperaments, all surrounding her in a circle.

Light suddenly flared all around her, washing the voices away. Then there was a powerful, singular voice before her, indescribable, neither male nor female, simply _there. _

_"Nine others await your arrival. Form a guild. Find them, and take them in. In the end, three stars will banish the darkness, and a soul of fire will end its reign forever."_

Without thinking, Ralinn knew that that was a command from a greater being. _Why me? S_he wanted to ask. But the light had vanished, and she was alone in her dreams again.

* * *

_shirion: new year_

Shirion gazed up at the sky from his resting place on the rocks. Here on one of Perion's eastern mountainsides, he could see the sunset, as it slowly turned the snow a radiant orange, glinting under the slanted sunlight that pierced, perfectly, through the snowflakes on the ground. The ice was thawing already.

Three months on the run already. Three months, and he was now level 39. Everyday, the sunshine, the beauty of the world that he had been denied for years before, greeted him in joy, making him ever gladder that he was free.

_New Year is coming soon. _The coming of a new year would be marked by fireworks displays from Kerning City in the west. The city of rebellion, which had been a stronghold for so many years—it was a beacon to the rebels of the world, calling them to arms, crying the commands: _"Stay free, forever."_

Through night, the Crusader walked the marketplace of Perion, buying his dinner and conversing with the few citizens of the place who still dared to walk about during the policemen's patrolling hours. "It's New Year tomorrow!" one excited shopkeeper exclaimed to another as he stood before them. "Winter is ending soon!"

Shirion was surprised. Was it already New Year's Eve? Time passed so fast. Had it already been three months since his escape? Had it already been a year since the last New Year? Had it already been fourteen years since he had come into the world?

In the silent whispers of the mountain night, Shirion stayed at the peak of the mountain, away from the rest of the citizens who congregated down below. His gaze was cast upon the western sky, and his heart was ready.

For a few minutes, the sky was bright with sparks, bangs and whizzes, as rainbows of fire bloomed through the night sky, shining like a starfall as they fell towards the land. It was beautiful, and a sign of hope to all.

* * *

_zethis: new year_

Zethis stood with the great crowd as the fireworks bloomed to life in the sky over Kerning. _I'm almost eleven now! _was, somehow, his first and clearest thought. For the very first time since he had left his old home, half a year ago, he felt a vast and burning sense of true joy. His journey was just starting, and he couldn't wait, for everything that the new year held for him.

* * *

_ketara: new year_

Ketara stood at the edge of Sleepywood's north border. From there, he saw the fireworks rise in brilliant waves, and instantly, he knew that winter was going to end soon. Against the black sky, they shone like fire, marking the end of one year and the start of the next.

So much had passed, and so much still awaited. Would he even live through to the next year, to the next sunrise? Were there battles waiting to be fought, lands waiting to be conquered, tragedies waiting to be sung?

Answers, answers, as hard to capture as the fleeting seconds. Were these _his _answers to know? Only time held this authority. Only time would tell.

All over the world, the Year of the Dog had begun.


	2. Year of the Dog

_Finally _updated!

* * *

Chapter 2: Year of the Dog

_ralinn: nine songs_

At the edge of Orbis, there was a Ranger. Her gaze was cast down through the clouds, at the snowy ground that was just as white as the city around her. The clouds shone in her eyes like tears.

Just beyond her feet, a ledge fell half a mile to the ground, unfolding into a snowy world she sometimes wondered about. Would she ever visit El Nath? The crystal land below was wondrous and deadly—and occasionally, she longed in her dreams to see more.

But for the sake of a duty she had to perform, she was currently in Orbis. Again, she took a moment to appreciate her surroundings—century-old buildings of white stone and sky vines towered around her, great gates and monuments suspended in the air by magical, humming crystals of Lithium. Rimming the city, great billows of clouds bloomed through a cerulean ocean, like high pillars and arches ornamenting the aerial outskirts.

With a last sigh at the scenic view around her, Ralinn raced down the stairs, off the city balcony and into the marketplace. She glanced about at road junctions for signposts, turning her gaze from the passers-by as she hurried down the pale stone streets.

She was here to form a guild, for the oddest reason in existence. A voice from her dreams had told her to do so, and she dared not to disobey.

_"When you find your members, you will know," _the voice had told her clearly. _"I will lead you to them, as best I can. And do not stop until they are found. Your search may last years on end__—__but don't give up."_

With an abrupt stop, Ralinn broke out of those thoughts. She had already arrived at the Guild Headquarters. The building, tapering at the top and gently curved, was enfolded within glowing wings the colour of dewy grass, their brightness pulsing warmly as they rose and fell over the HQ.

Nervous and worried, the Ranger knocked on the door. Her calls were soon answered by a tall, tanned man, white hair spread over his scalp, a scar on his left eye.

"Yes, I am Hercule of the Guild Headquarters," he replied, unsmiling. "Are you here to form a guild?"

Ralinn nodded, stiff with nerves. Without a moment, Hercule invited the girl into the main hall of the Guild Headquarters, and without another word she followed him inside. The grandeur and symmetry of the building's interior instantly engulfed her—the divine lighting that illuminated every corner of the main hall, the rich red carpet on the ground, the two staircases curved around a polished, sunlit parquet floor.

"Stop staring, and come up here," the middle-aged man was already at the top of the staircs, a huge tome in his hands, its pages well-fingered and yellowing.

As Ralinn ascended the closer left staircase, Hercule opened the book along a fraying ribbon bookmark. He handed her a quill pen the instant she arrived before him.

"One million five hundred thousand mesos," he said, raising his gaze to eye her. Then, something like disapproval entered his gaze. "And six members...where are they? You know the rules, don't you?"

Ralinn had been fearing this. One of the rules for forming a guild was that she would have to come with five others. _But if that voice really wants me to form a guild now, it would have eliminated these problems..._

She had been relying on the assumption that this strange voice in her head had planned everything out for her. But it turned out that it had done nothing at all! _Was that "message" even real? _She suddenly wondered. Had it just been a wild waking dream?

"Um, I...I..." she faltered, unable to save herself. "I heard a voice in my dreams telling me to...uh..."

Hercule sighed and sat down. "We don't listen to 'voices'," he replied heavily. "Apologies, I was hoping to make a new guild today..."

Ralinn was about to turn and leave. But that was when she suddenly noticed that the sunlight streaming from the window above was...brightening. She blinked and gasped.

And a moment later, the soft rays of light swelled into a torrent upon Hercule's terrified figure, the pure tone of continuously-ringing bells flooding her ears. The room seemed to be blown apart as it gushed from the window, and nearby, Ralinn could hear Hercule's terrified gasping though she could not see him.

Then just as suddenly, the light dimmed to its original brightness. Hercule was leaning against his table, arms shaking.

"...Ralinn," he suddenly said, straightening. "Today, I am forced to make an exception. You have been chosen by powers greater than humankind, and even the law cannot dispute such a thing. Please write your name here." He held out the book to the relieved Hunter, opening it to a page where the long list of people's names ended. The quill shivered in her hand as she wrote her name at the end.

And in those seconds, her name joined those of the great guild masters who had come before—Sunburst, ...—and the yet-unwritten names of guild masters to come.

Ralinn looked up at the ceiling as she came to the space for "Guild name (no spaces)" and thought, the brilliance of the blue sky in the window above suddenly gracing her with unexplainable calm. She thought of the only clues that the voice given her, and wondered at their meaning.

_"In the end, three stars will banish the darkness..."_

She pondered about all the constellations, silently, and one surfaced in her mind —the Belt of Orion. The three stars, always in line, as they traversed their eternal pilgrimage.

"OrionsBelt", she wrote on the list. That was its registered name, but its true name would be Orion's Belt.

Hercule nodded a few times as he took the book back into his palms. "Thank you," he replied. As she reached into her bag for the heavy fee, he stopped her. "There is no need for you to pay, miss. It seems that you have been chosen for a special cause, so...it's only my job to allow you to form your guild without payment."

Ralinn sighed, both with relief and disappointment. She had worked so hard to earn that money...

Hercule, not waiting another moment, dragged his drawer open, extracting a bunch of jangling jewelled chains and holding it out to her. "When you invite someone to your guild, give him or her one of these to wear," he instructed. "They are marks of membership. You can buy more from me later, if need be."

Ralinn took the chains into her hand, their thin metal rings cold in her palm. Singling one out, she allowed the rest to fall into one of her pockets, before putting it on. With a short bow to Hercule and a word of thanks, the girl had left.

She was a Guild Master now—a_ leader_. It was amazing. Just the thought that she could now invite people to join her journeys, and expel them whenever she pleased—somehow, it simply made her feel _powerful, _and in control of her life.

it was something she had never had before. She had never had any control of what befell her. She had been taken from her parents and brother to become a child labourer, and suffered for three years, carrying sacks of goods into the castle grounds. She had finally run away one day, when the pain had grown too great, and the guards had not been able to catch up with her.

She had been free for five years already, secretly getting a job as a Bowman and training into a Hunter during that time. As the daughter of Athena Pierce's best friend, she had received a considerably greater amount of training from the Job Master. The elf woman had offered to inform her mother of her whereabouts—but she had refused that, wanting to carry on with this beautiful freedom for a few years more.

But that wasn't the sole reason. Though she didn't want to admit it, though she was strong and already fourteen years old, she was mortally afraid—afraid that her family had vanished during her time away.

In the nocturnal calm, in her hotel room, Ralinn lay awake in the dark among the covers. Her mind was full of the day's events, and she had begun to wonder if she could handle this challenge. How long would it take? How would she find them? _Where, _in the Goddess' name?

Hoping that she would get some answers soon, the huntress closed her eyes, waiting for the tides of sleep to claim her.

* * *

Again, she dreamt of the voice, after two barren months of waiting.

There were nine lights and the nine songs around her, again. Beyond the lights, she could sense the vagueness of drifting clouds, but she paid it no attention. Drawn by the first voice, she found herself walking towards it.

She heard it as she approached, soaking in the tones of its song. Somehow, she felt as if she had heard this voice before, so long ago, _so long ago_...

_"Where are you? I've cried tears countless_

_More than all the hours flown_

_Though by joy I am defended_

_I still wait, asleep, alone."_

Taking in a deep breath, Ralinn stepped closer and listened again, again. The light sang the words once more, its mellow voice seeming to tug at something in her mind.

_Waiting? For me?_

Looking away from the brightness, for it was suddenly too much for her to bear, she sobbed. Was this voice telling her to return to the home she hadn't seen for eight years? Was that where she would find the first member of Orion's Bolt?

She wanted to ask, but somehow, she knew that this creature of light, if _creature_ it was, would not know the answer.

And she could not, for as soon as Ralinn turned back, she had been whisked away into another meaningless dream.

* * *

_akera: burns of guilt_

_"You have a sweet voice, Akera. Why don't you sing for us?" _they had asked on the night before their deaths_. _She had refused._  
_

Akera closed her eyes to the sun, and folded the lotuses in the darkness beneath her eyelids. Slept in skylight. She was reliving—so vividly—the last moments she had seen Shirion, before he had disappeared into the crystal darkness of the forest and vanished, clearer than the blue sky before her.

She _had _wanted to follow him on his journey. She _had longed _company. But no matter how she desired it, she knew that she couldn't ask him to join her, nor to come any closer.

For she was Akera, the witch. Akera, the murderer. The one who should never be forgiven.

In the honey-coloured sunlight, the Fire Poison Wizard found her gaze wandering over Henesys' northeastern border, where the king's castle towered proud upon the hilltop, emerging grey from the lush forest. It didn't have the image of an evil man's home, like the castles of the antagonists in storybooks. It was spring, and the sun cast warm light upon its grey walls. It looked grand and mysterious—not evil, and not threatening.

Yet Akera knew that the one who owned it was nowhere near this warmth in nature. This was the king who had forced his people into oppression. This was the cruel man who had tortured his people without justification. To her, he was a dark, brooding entity on the edge of her mind—not oppressively present, but always, annoyingly, _there._

So often, since childhood, she had wished that the light would return to once-beautiful Victoria with tears in the back of his imagination. She wished that it could be the home she had always _wanted_ it to be. She had wished—so hard and so long—that now, her entire life had become an era of hate and darkness.

But she knew and accepted that it wasn't the world that had darkened. It was her own heart. It was the invisible cage she had locked herself into, seven years ago. A cage of ashes, a cage of dead flame. She couldn't allow anyone else inside.

The keys were rusting in a grave. She had to die in pain, in isolation. Lonely.

It was a day when the skies had been cloudy and the roars of the workers had thundered outside, that she sealed herself to this fate, leaped into the currents she would never flee.

She had been playing meaningless games, all her life. _Spending her fortune on worthless trinkets._

It had been a day whose tension she had felt all the while. The weight of the bad news had weighed deep in her parents' eyes—so obvious, so dark.

"Akera, we're moving into hiding," her father had said one afternoon, as she had watched the bloodied docks of Lith Harbor. "It's not safe to stay here anymore. The king's new rule is that families of less than five are not allowed to own houses."

_Not safe? I thought that was obvious._

"Come on, Akera, don't be afraid, we'll be fine once we find a place to stay, hidden," her mother said softly. "It will end—"

And all of a sudden, Akera had begun to _detest _that voice. It was _so _patronising. It grated on her ears.

Then there was the roar of a monster—a roar that she suddenly realised was her own. She became and embodied that creature, felt the words leave her lips in a scream—

"We'll _never _be fine! You keep saying that just to keep me happy! You know that it will never end. What, then, after we find a new home? We'll have to keep running and running until he catches us, or we die! _Stop lying to me!_"

The monster, locked up deep within her heart by old chains—torn from her hold, freed by all the pain that she had hidden and nurtured so long. She still remembered them. The demons of fire that had finally escaped her body, unfolding outwards in a whirlwind of thunder and raging phoenix fire. Swallowing all the things in her life that had taught her to _hate_. Swallowing the screams, the sobs, the fairy lights outside.

Flames circled into the sky, and were lost to the grey clouds. Suddenly, there she stood—alone, _alone_ among the burnt ruins of her home. Her parents, a pair of broken skeletons in two mounds of ash.

She had been nothing but a seven-year-old child. She _had _understood murder and crime at that time, such a genius she had been—but she hadn't understood the feeling that had come flooding in through the cracks, with this notion.

_No, no… _

Akera in Henesys suddenly felt tears flood her eyes—seven-year-old tears, tears she didn't notice till she blinked. Everything came speeding by in cold silence—seven years of living in the shadow of the castle, seven years of struggling through the relentless bonds. She had learnt the ways of magic, already—how to handle it constructively, how to use for _good_.

How not to lose control of it, and accidentally kill someone in the process.

Her sobs grew more violent, and stumbling across the path to a tree, the girl shivered in tears against its rough bark. She had been seven then and intelligent beyond her years, made a mistake ahead of her time—a mistake that would follow her deep into her adolescence and adulthood. Eventually. _Forever._

But who was to know that the mistake wouldn't be made again? She was afraid. Akera feared for everyone she spent time with, for everyone who spoke to her. Would she let herself go again, and destroy another person she loved?

For that she had become an antisocial outcast of her own accord—forever locked within her own shaky, breaking construction of _the world_, forever fighting to keep others out of it. Forever pushing _them _away with offensive comments and snappy replies.

But never was her defence to be perfect. There was someone whom she could not quite understand, and found she could never force away. Him, the Fighter, the one whom she had met after capture, working in the Ellinia Station. No matter how many times she had tried to push Shirion out of her world and her heart, he had managed to break down all her defences and come a little deeper into her secret circle of protection.

Somehow, she knew how that brown-haired boy felt—he too knew the bitter coldness of solitude, and he too needed the love he had been denied. Exasperated, amused, somehow _fond _of his ways, she had granted that innocent wish of his.

Yet, throughout their long friendship, Akera had constantly feared for his life. She didn't want to let another die, just because she had been too foolish to let go of a friendship. She had to protect Shirion. By staying away from him.

And as Akera blinked again, rising to full height, gazing beyond the castle into the shining sky, words echoed from an obscure distance.

_"You have a sweet voice, Akera. Why don't you sing for us?" _they had asked, the calm night before. She had refused, for she had been a rebel. She had refused the love, the light, the hope—for she had believed it unnecessary. But now she knew she _had _needed it all along.

And now, Akera would find a way to accede to their request—for she liked to believe that there were ways to answer impossible questions.

There always were.

Blinking the tears away, Akera found her voice within her heart. It was the voice of a songbird with broken feathers. The heartbeat-song of a tear-stained world that she didn't want anyone else to know, guarded eternally by her wings.

_I promise I'll find my way back to you, Mum and Dad, _her thoughts whispered to her heart, as she began to hum a slow, sad tune. _I'll find you again, and you'll hear me sing._

* * *

_raydan: a homecoming_

A lone Bowman stood among the fallen buildings on the outskirts of Kerning City. He grinned at the marks that the king's policemen had left—the blackness of the burns in the walls, walls that had been bombarded repeatedly in a futile attempt to infiltrate the city.

Kerning, the land of freedom, the land of the lawless—it had been his home since his birth. He was twelve now, a level 23 bowman, eight years since his sister had left.

_Sister…_

Every so often, Raydan still dreamt of her. The girl had never been any more than a vague notion in his heart. A beautiful girl, he liked to believe—for all that was left of her was a warm_ presence_ somewhere in the dregs of his past, a sense that there was someone out in the world whom he could rightfully call his big sister.

Eight years was a very long time—it was two thirds of his life. Though he should have lost hope long ago, Raydan continued to believe that she would turn up before him one day, smiling with pride to see what an _amazing _bowman he had become.

He still lived in the same house as he had when she had left, together with his parents. _They _had stopped hoping long ago.

_But _I_ must keep hoping! Oh, _Sister, _I am so gonna kill you for being gone so long!_

Suddenly aware of the fact that he was still in a high-risk area, Raydan quickly pulled himself out of his thoughts and glanced about, bow wielded in his left hand. As if cued by his return to attention, a huge blue mushroom instantly leapt out of the ruins and came bouncing in his direction.

His swift hands strung an arrow before it could come any closer, and with a twang of the string and a blaze of blue, a streak of light soared and collided with the monster. It grunted with the impact of the arrow, struggling to shake of the surprise. Heart leaping with thrill, Raydan strung yet another, charging it up with his mana.

"Arrow Blow!" he cried, the second shaft swooping from his bow. _Thwack. _Then he stepped back in sudden shock. The mushroom's expression had suddenly transformed, all cheer leaving its bright eyes. Those brilliant depths suddenly narrowed—and with a great leap, it thundered forward, gaze locked upon him.

A string of expletives flooded from Raydan's lips as he realised that he had picked a fight with a full-grown bull mushroom at its prime. Gasping with fright and racing onto a high rock, he whirled around and fired two arrows at once. They whizzed through the air in orange flames, but as they scorched the mushroom's side, they did little damage—and still it advanced.

Another arrow flew with a sharp twang, the Bowman's mana flooding out like water through a broken pot.

_Knockback, _he chanted to himself as the wooden projectile struck. _K__nockback…_

There was no Knockback effect. The monster didn't hesitate a second as it took the hit—and with continuous curses, Raydan was backed away with sore wingless feet, helpless with terror and understanding. It struck him, how simply _absurd_ it was that he would die, after all these years, at the hands of a monster merely his level, so much smaller, slower, _darker_…

Footsteps in the broken cement; an answering call. Stark and sturdy like steel, and so unnervingly powerful.

_"Arrow Bomb!" _

As Raydan glanced about to see where that sudden shout had come from, a flash of yellow expanded from the corner of the greyness, and burst the blue mushroom with a showering of golden fireworks. It fell over with a sharp cry, melting into the ground as the young bowman's glances grew more desperate, and finally landed upon the only other moving figure in the vicinity.

On a far ledge, some way beyond and higher than his own, stood a teenaged girl—a huntress—tall and lithe, her hair the same dark gold as his. She was in hunter's garb, and in her hand was a bow much longer and more graceful than his.

_I want a bow like that, _he thought briefly. Then, _she looks amazing._

While he was pondering dazedly, the female youth proceeded to stride over with a smile of curiosity upon her face. "Careful when you're out here," she said with a good-natured grin. "What level are you?"

"Twenty-three," he replied, desperately trying to collect his thoughts under her gaze.

"And your age?"

"Twelve."

The girl smiled at him, a strange ruefulness showing in her eyes, suddenly. Not bothering to ask why she was feeling so, he searched his mental library for the best way to advance a conversation with a pretty girl.

"Thanks for saving me," he finally managed, holding her gaze bravely. "I nearly died there…"

The girl didn't seem to think anything of it. "Why're you alone out here?" she asked instead.

Raydan, flattered that she had asked, replied, "It's dangerous going beyond the border of Kerning, I know. Mum always says, _ooh, you'll get captured here, you'll get captured there_—but these are the _only _places we can hunt!"

She laughed at his words, a ringing sound that made his heart leap. "So, you live in Kerning?" she asked, raising her gaze in its dark direction. He nodded. "I lived there once… Well, thankfully, I've finally escaped from that stupid king and his castle. And now I can go home!"

_Go home?  
_

"How's it like?" he suddenly asked, alarm growing in his gaze. "Because my sister…" He sighed and looked down. "Will my sister be safe? Will she come back?"

"Perhaps, if she has luck," the huntress replied. "But if she has the spirit to fight, then she will return. Now I've got to get home. My family hasn't seen me for a long time…"

Just before she could depart, Raydan hurriedly offered to walk the huntress home, too hopeful to let go of such a chance. And such a beautiful girl, too. She accepted graciously, much to his delight—and together, they began to stroll through the ruins. It felt great.

"Oh, and what's your name?" the girl asked, a few minutes into their journey.

"Raydan," he replied with a smile. "How about—"

Raydan never managed to finish his question, for at the very next moment, he suddenly found himself trapped in the tightest embrace of his life.

From above him, he could vaguely make out the dark blonde hair and amber eyes of the girl he had only just met. "I can't believe this!" she screamed, crying tears of joy. "It was _you _all along, you silly guy! Dan...don't you remember me?"

_Dan? Why does that sound so—_

Raydan was completely lost for words. "Do I actually know you?"

"I'm Ralinn!" she barely gasped. "Your sister—I'm back!"

Now it was Ralinn's turn to be caught by surprise, as Raydan suddenly tightened his grip around her neck. "Ralinn!" he shouted, barely able to believe that this really was happening, and that it wasn't just a dream. That _she _was his sister. Part of him worried that he would suddenly wake up and find himself on his bed—but the warmth he felt encircling him, the tightness of this girl's embrace, was too _real_ to be part of a dream. "I'm gonna _kill _you for coming back so late, Ralinn!"

It felt great. Amazing. This awesome, gorgeous girl was his sister. Ralinn, whom he had lost eight years ago, whom he had hoped would be alive every day of his life. Ralinn, his sister.

Now, they carried on towards their home, much anticipation suddenly sparked between them. Ralinn had not seen home for eight years. Both their parents were out at work at the moment, so they would be in for a surprise when they arrived home.

"And we're home!" Raydan said, turning the key in the lock as his heart thumped deep in his chest. Ralinn peered inside, saying nothing. But as they entered and she laid her sling bag on the side table, he saw that tears were welling in her eyes.

"It looks the same as before," she murmured, smiling so divinely that he felt he might cry himself. "But a lot must have happened, since I last saw you!"

"Yeah, Linn," the young bowman called out the nickname that he had used for Ralinn before. It felt like brushing away the dust of disuse, as if he were uncovering the remains of an old artifact he had once loved. "Linn, where have you been all this while? I want to hear everything, everything about what you did in those eight years!"

Ralinn glanced up from the sofa upon which she was resting, head leaned against one armrest, feet atop the other.

"It wasn't too bad," she replied. "Worked at the castle for three years, those were hard times. Then I escaped and went to Athena to become a Bowman. Then a Huntress. Oh, and I just came back from Orbis. I kept hearing a voice in my head, and it was telling me to form a guild—"

Something must have sparked in her mind, for now, Ralinn sat up straight from the sofa.

"Raydan," she said, suddenly dead serious, eyes fixed hard on his. "Do you want to put an end to all this suffering? The king has owned his throne too long. We have to end his reign. Will you join this cause?"

Raydan took not a moment's hesitation and nodded, though her graveness puzzled him slightly. "I miss you," he replied, words heavy with emotion. "I don't want anyone else to feel the same pain, ever again."

With a smile and a nod, Ralinn reached into her pocket, metal jangling inside. Then, to the bowman's surprise, she produced a bright gem on a sparkling chain. "Then join Orion's Belt," she replied.

Raydan reached out and grasped the chain, heart pounding with delight, with surprise. Then only did he notice that Ralinn also wore one, the bright, clear gem shining stark against her rough hunter's outfit.

Breath held, he placed it around his neck—and became a member of a guild. Ralinn's guild, Orion's Belt.

* * *

_ralinn: the second member_

Ralinn looked into Raydan's eyes, the exact same flaming amber as hers. Suddenly, she recalled the song, and she understood. Raydan had been waiting for her all this while. Her dear brother, Dan.

So, that done, the task of finding the third member of Orion's Belt stood before her. _At least this is a start, _she thought to herself, smiling at Raydan, who grinned unknowingly back. _I've found the second member._

Then, feeling hungry after her tiring journey home, she stepped over to the dining table—the same one as before, now with many more scratches and dents—and took some of the chips from Raydan's packet, very much to his annoyance.

* * *

_zethis: into the city_

Pausing upon the rocky slope of the mountain, Zethis let out a breath of surprise. He was finally level 17. All around him, the uneven rock faces that had once looked treacherous to him now brought a queer sense of familiarity—and even peace. Around him lay the remains of the hoard of stumps that he had just slain—a leaf or two, as well as broken twigs, strewn across the hard ground.

One mere year ago, Zethis had been a weak little kid hiding within the safety of his foster father's home, waiting for him to arrive everyday with his dinner.

And now he lived alone, travelling the footpaths of the mountains in the northern region of Perion, killing and lighting fires for his own food. Like a real warrior. Like someone from the tribe of Perion itself. Such a change it had been, from that weakling last summer, to the battler that he was, now.

In this moment of solitary joy, Zetgus allowed himself a smile. Bending down, he picked up a handful of twigs from the ground, stuffing them into a pocket of his bag, before brushing his hands on his leather armour. His fruit knife had long been abandoned; he now held a gleaming steel mace in his right hand, and a tall metal shield in his left. One step closer, to becoming the White Knight he dreamt of being. _One step at a time._

How far he had come, from his days as a boy who had never seen the world, hoeing the earth with his father. This was the sky he had never expected to touch. The metal rested perfectly in his hands, clad him well and strengthened him inside. But was this the furthest he would ever go? Something in the beckoning wind told him that he had many long distances to go.

Turning to face the mountainside, saw the blue distances before him, spread like an exquisite carpet of varying natural shades, held open beneath the sky. In its midst, he picked out the shapes of the piercing towers of the great western city, resting near the horizon. _Kerning, _he thought to himself, recalling. The lamp lit roads and bright signboards were still imprinted deep into his memory, burnt into his vision.

Sighing, he continued to gaze at the glorious city—the place where everyone could be _free_.

_It's time for a change of scenery, _he finally decided. He had lived around Perion for half a year since midwinter, when he had gone to get his first job. The sun was suddenly brilliant and calm, and the summer was drawing into the period of its deepest thawing warmth.

The unchanging, unending mountain scenery and the high-pitched bird calls were beginning to tire him. Sudenlly, he longed to return to the shadowed lights of the west. How would it look, under the stars of the autumn? No doubt he would only arrive then—or perhaps even in winter, when the world was white.

How he would love to see that mirthless silver and grey world dressed like a bride at her wedding, the night sky her groom. How the stars would smile and sing, blessing a city that had been cursed since birth.

_I will go to Kerning City, _Zethis decided.

* * *

_ralinn: a soft voice  
_

Ralinn glanced up in her dream, and looked around. There were eight more voices around her, she noted. One had drawn away, a silent source of light filled with contentment. Walking onwards, towards the one nearest to her, she listened. Its voice was so soft, she could hardly hear its words.

_"Find me, guide me in my blindness  
_

_Find a song to still my heart._

_Keep your smile and take my spirit  
_

_Stay by me, right from the start."_

Ralinn began to think about these words. Was this person so "blind", as it said? Or was this figurative blindness? He was a boy, she could tell from his voice, and so inconfident too. But she heard, despite its softness, great strength and hope within.

_I'll find you,_ she thought. _I'm sure I'll find you._

The dream then left Ralinn, but this time, she was content with what she had learnt.

* * *

_ketara: after a year_

Finally! The warrior's heart underwent a rush of ecstasy, as he saw the world flash blue all around him. He had kept close count of his level-ups, and at last, he knew, he was qualified to become a Spearman. _Level thirty!_

It had been two years since he had left his foster mother in Ellinia, and now he was ready for his second job. Also, he recalled, a year had passed since he had made Dances with Balrog his promise: that he would make the choice between home and freedom, a year after his departure.

Ketara knew the answer to that question, now. All of a sudden, it was simply so obvious—his one year of living in the Dungeon had instilled such a love for freedom in him. And it was about time, too! Ketara had not met anyone new beneath the shadows of the Dungeon, besides the resident monks of Sleepywood. Now he recalled, with sudden longing, his encounter with the twins near the cave mouth, a year ago. Their images sometimes haunted him in his constantly darkening dreams—yet in those dreams, they were always kind. _Smiling. Beautiful._

The lack of company was growing unbearable. An entire year was too long a time of solitude—the Warrior loved nothing much more than conversation and socialising. With no one to talk to, Ketara had begun to talk to his Fork on a Stick. That didn't help very much.

_And thank goodness that I've finally reached level 30!_ He felt his mind gasp in relief. He couldn't wait to finally see sunlight again, after so long without it. Golden, syrupy sunlight. He couldn't bear the taste of raw meat for another day. He couldn't drink river water anymore. _And, _he mused, _I need to get a haircut._ The youth's hair already fell far beyond his shoulders, in messy tangles.

Within minutes, having packed up whatever remained of his battle equipment and other belongings, Ketara had begun to chart his path back northwards, if "chart" was the right word for stumbling aimlessly through the undergrowth in an arbitrary direction. He would not have been able to tell which way was north, if not for the direction that all the termite nests were facing.

Crashing through yet another bush of undergrowth, Ketara suddenly had the horrible thought that there might be no way out—that the sunlight he had once lived under was only an illusion. Yet, ever optimistic, he continued to walk, refusing to settle for that crushing conclusion.

It was about fifteen minutes into his vaguely-northward journey that the twelve-year-old boy heard a low, thumping sound in the leaves far ahead. The ground seemed to shake with each deafening crash of what might be feet, sending bolts of dread through him. And it was approaching _him._

His breaths were warm, warm and deep and tangled, stirring his hair as his sweat began to slip down his forehead. Then they grew deep and steady as his soul slowly found its rhythm, and he dashed through the twigs, peering past the vine-covered tree trunks.

In the silence, his mouth fell open. In the clearing stood a towering green creature, its body seeming to gleam faintly with viscous slime. Ketara snatched his head away, mortified. _Shall I fight it? Will it kill me first?_

Crossing his fingers with one hand, pulling his spear from his belt with the other, he glanced up at the towering green mass again—and suddenly felt the warmth rush to his hands.

It was uncontrollable. The raging flames filled him up, before he could think. Bravery, burning through the tips of his fingers, the hairs upon his head, rendering him so stupid, so _stupid. _And at once he leapt from hiding, weapon blazing to life—swinging forth with all the power of his recklessness and certainty.

_"Power Strike!" _With the momentum of his body weight, he thrust the spear at the monster, the sparks of fire scattering, leaving a superficial scratch in its thick, translucent skin.

_Well, I did it some damage!_ He thought, morale boosted. Again, he charged forward with a Power Strike, his mana quickly draining itself as he drove the weapon against its skin and gave it a long gash in its stomach.

The _thing _leapt and thundered back into the ground. The shock waves threw him down upon his back, among the thick shrubs of the undergrowth. As he pulled himself to stand, the creature leapt up again with terrifying suddenness, its huge slimy bulk surging forward and thrusting him back into the undergrowth, bruised and scraped among the twigs.

_No__—__I'll never beat it, because I'm too close! I wish I had magic, or arrows, or—_

Then he remembered the promise he had made, the day the bowman had humiliated him on the other side of the mountain. Magic and arrows were marks of cowardice. _No. _He would prove the stronger. The braver. As a _warrior._

Rising again, Ketara found the strength to growl at the creature, drawing on his mana for another Power Strike. He yelled again, thrusting the Fork forward, plunging it into its skin. The point met resistance, and that resistance suddenly budged, and a wound tore in its stomach, from which green liquid spurted—the first successful hit.

But then, he hesitated.

And there was a cry of joy from behind—with that cry, far too rapidly, a barrage of metal discs snicked through the air overhead, flashing silver. With purpose they sliced forward, cutting deep into the huge slime bag's skin like knives in jelly. As holes suddenly began to sprout all over the monster, Ketara glanced back.

It was in that moment that two familiar people leapt out of the branches, purposefully ignoring his presence—and rapidly took up the battle, wilder than ever.

Somehow, the Warrior simply could not hold it against them for stealing his prey. He watched now in awe, as they waged war upon the colossal monster. They were swift as squirrels in the branches, leaping and shifting and whirling here and away as they attacked on both sides, the boy with streams of flame from his palms, and the girl with throwing stars.

_Throwing stars? Fire magic? Where did they learn that?_

And Ketara watched, helplessly fascinated, as the creature was beaten down by their combined power. And with a sudden thunderous strike from a fireball, its skin burst apart, its contents splattering on everything in the clearing, including him.

"I killed it this time!" the boy shouted triumphantly, snatching its fallen bubble from the ground, scraping the liquid from the roots into a spare bag. "Seventeen for me, and fourteen for you!" He laughed at the girl, who growled but said nothing.

"You again," she snarled in disapproval, turning from her brother to Ketara. "I thought you said that you wouldn't come back here! Just because you're so good-looking doesn't mean that we'll be easy on you!"

"I'm just passing through," he replied quickly with a smile and a tinge of embarrassment. "I'm going back to Perion."

"Hm, you're _weird_," the black-haired girl commented aloud in response, just as her brother finished gathering the monster's remains. "You're aren't screaming and running, when you should be." She paused. "And that's a…funnily nice thought…"

"Haha, no problem," Ketara said. "Could you show me the way to Perion?"

The dark-haired boy in the background suddenly appeared beside his sister. "Oh, you're back," he said. "Didn't you promise—"

"He's just passing through," his sister replied. "And he needs to know the way out. Do I—?"

"Yeah, yeah, _go ahead_," the boy replied with a toss of his raven hair, striding haughtily away without another glance. The girl, after a small swear at her brother, proceeded to depart in a different direction.

Wordlessly, Ketara followed. "How's life been?" His voice quickly broke the silence as he approached her.

She paused and looked at him oddly. "Annoying," she replied with a trace of boredom, before turning back to the road.

"Why?"

The girl hesitated before replying. "Rino," she said, flinging her long black hair over her shoulder. "He won't stop trying to beat me at everything! Guys are _always _like that!" She rolled her eyes. "Why'd you care anyway?"

Ketara blinked, ignoring the annoyance in her voice. "Rino? Is that your brother's name?" he asked in curiosity.

"Uh…his real name is Turino," she explained. Then, seeming to make up her mind after a moment of thought, she added, "I'm Telida. We're…actually twins."

"Hi, Telida," the Warrior greeted her excitedly. With the revelation of her name, she suddenly felt less…distant. "My name is Ketara."

"It sounds like a girl's name," she commented. But Ketara only laughed with such optimism, for he was a spirit of joy, and had heard that comment far too many times.

"Yeah," he agreed with a grin, stopping. "I was named by a fairy." _Actually, she named me so because she heard my name in a dream… _

Telida said "wow" softly, before they resumed their forest trek. They spoke not for the rest of the journey, for Ketara's mind was full, full of colourful images flying about in his brain, questions he knew he couldn't answer. Who were _they_? How long had these two been here? If she had been living in the forest for all this while, who had taught her to use throwing stars? Who had given her her name?

She had appeared terrifyingly dark to him before; suddenly, he had realized that she wasn't as evil as he had pictured all this while. His dreams had always been right. But Turino didn't seem as nice as her…

The Warrior suddenly noted that the air around them was turning brighter than before. Ahead of him, he could see Telida's faint silhouette, her thin frame and swishing hair. Fascinated, he followed her onwards, beginning to notice the sunlight dancing on motes of dust circling the trees, bright like gold.

He barely saw the rim of the leaves pass them by, before true, blinding sunlight suddenly burst through the gaps in the treetops, the leaves peeling away into a golden afternoon.

In that blinding, brilliant image they stood, Telida sighing. "Well, here we are. Goodbye." She gave him a gentle push forward, and by the time he had turned around to return her greeting, she had vanished, leaving only a few leaves stirring in her wake.

_Well._ The Spearman-to-be glanced about blindly, the sunlight too bright for his eyes to handle, after almost a year in the darkness of the Dungeon. _Finally, after so long._

As the minutes passed, he began to see more—the straggly weeds that lined the feet of the Perion mountains, then the rock faces and overhangs, and finally, the sky—the vast, scrolling sky that he had not seen, and had missed, for almost a year. He took in the smell of dry, sunlit air with thankfulness, feeling the almost nonexistent breeze with welcome, before heaving a great sigh of inexplicable regret, and starting on his trip up the mountain.

A few minutes after sunset, the village of Perion had come into Ketara's view. Now, after a year within the Dungeon with only dim torches for lighting, he could suddenly see things he had not been able to before—Stumps as they retreated into their hidden dens around the mountain; dark, shadowy trees waving in the dim moonlight—and most usefully, the well-trodden pathways that he had to take to reach the village of tents on the tallest mountain.

Stretching his legs for a few minutes, the warrior breathed deeply and gathered up his energy, giving a cry and racing up the remaining distance, arriving, panting, at the edge of the cosy little village.

_I'm back, _he thought with a bright smile. Then, with a pang of sadness, he recalled that he would never get to call Perion "home", as he had wished for two years. He loved the village, but he loved his freedom far too much to let go. His eyes closed to the village, and he wished it a soft goodbye. This would be his last look at the place for a long time.

But for now, Ketara still had his job advancement test to worry about—a test that many of his road friends had spoken of with much weariness. It would be quite a while before he truly departed from here.

* * *

Ketara could hardly sleep that night. Thoughts of his second job advancement, and of the test that awaited, spun around in his mind, stirring him awake with excitement whenever he came close to sleep. Finally, he did managed to, though, the exhaustion of the climb quickly crawling into his muscles.

The warrior awakened to a bright sky for the first time in a long time. He had almost forgotten how it was like to be awakened by the light of the sun, leaving it entirely to habit for those months in the darkness. Crawling along the leather into the open, he took a deep breath of morning air, and felt his eyes drink up the vividness of the sky above—blue, painted gold and orange at the edges.

Outside, the air was cool. Even compared to the air in the Dungeon, it was appreciably cool. The leaves of the Dungeon, he suddenly recalled, had been turning gold as he had left—and he realised at once that another year was entering its second half. _Two and a half years, Mother, Elenlor! _He called to his fairy foster-mother. _I have reached level thirty!_

Time had gone and come in a circle. It was exactly the same—the same as it had been a year ago. Ketara stood before the same door, awaiting the same person, in the same autumnal breeze. As he knocked, the door suddenly swung open to reveal the face of Dances with Balrog, who smiled upon sight.

"Right on time, Ketara! You kept to your word, I see," he said, allowing the Warrior inside.

"It's been quite an adventure," Ketara replied with a grin. "And I decided that I don't actually want to stay in Perion, if that is the price." He said this with surprising confidence. "It'd have been great, I'm sure—but there's a lot out there for me to see as well. Maybe I'll come back here once a year."

Then he changed the subject. "But that's not the reason why I came," he added, smile widening though his heart was quailing, all of a sudden. "I'm here to become a Spearman!"

Ah, that, indeed, is fast!" he responded, noting the fear in Ketara's eyes though he concealed it deep. "Fear not, child. Come with me."

Though his limbs were shaking now as he followed the Job Master out of the Sanctuary, Ketara felt his heart leap with ecstasy. At last, the time was here for him to prove his worth of a new title! Of course, he felt doubtful of whether he would make it through, but he quickly covered those thoughts up with prospects of what he would be doing. What kind of test would it be?

The questions were all answered as soon as Dances with Balrog came to a stop, about a mile from Perion, on a ledge overlooking a valley that smelt of _monsters_. Far beneath, he saw shadows raging around in the valley, too far for him to discern their size. Ketara didn't know if it was his imagination, but did he hear strange, savage roars from where they ran? These sounds were too loud to belong to those monsters, surely?

As the monsters continued to thunder about beneath, Dances with Balrog called for Ketara's attention. "The job is easy," he briefed the nervous warrior. "You go in there, kill the monsters, and obtain thirty dark marbles from their carcasses. Simple as that. Ready?"

Ketara didn't feel so sure. _Easy? Those things sound horribly huge!_ "But…I might die there!" he blurted out, then regretted voicing his fears.

"Don't you worry," Dances with Balrog replied with such strength it almost magically chased his fears away. "I'll be watching. If you're in trouble, I'll come to save you." His voice was comforting, but Ketara still felt the fear filling his stomach.

"I'm ready," he finally said, loud and hopeful.

"Alright. On the count of three. One…two…"

Ketara swallowed, wanting badly to prove himself worthy a new title, and at the same time mortified that he might die in the valley below. _I'm not a coward!_ He reprimanded himself for his doubt, within the last second between the "two" and "three". His second job advancement awaited, just beyond this challenge!

Like thunder, the Perion chief's powerful shout of "three" echoed through the mountainsides, making the monsters below pause momentarily with what might have been shock. As the shadows circled below, waiting for him, Ketara felt his adrenaline surge as he leapt down to the first ledge between him and the creatures below.

The wind buffeted the mountain, flying straight up against his face as if slapping him with coldness. At once, new, fresh exhilaration surged through his body. Riding upon this momentary tide of hope, he stumbled further down the mountainside, further through the winds, on and on and on towards his doom.

Like drums in the dust they rolled and raged—awaiting him far, far below.

Halfway down his route through the mountainside, a familiar smell hit his nose. Wild boars! The crude monsters brought terrible recollections back. Their scent mingled with the tang of smoking flesh, and he knew that this would be something he had never seen before.

Heat soon engulfed the young warrior, and the smell of the beasts grew stronger around him. The sun seemed to burn on his skin, his hands growing sweaty in the oven-like heat of the valley. This was definitely not normal. But what did he expect? This was a test, a test which decided if he was worthy of a second job or not.

The grunts were deafening, swelling in psychopathic rhythm around him. Among the monsters, he noticed as he came closer on the ledge he stood on, there were what looked like the monkeys he had seen on the way to Kerning a while ago. This species was Lupin, he was sure. They were notorious for being able to use their bananas as weapons.

Ketara was close enough now. The rank raw smell of monsters made him gag, almost suffocating him with lack of air to breathe. Sweat was running down his forehead and neck; he had not felt so _hot _before.

He was perched on the ledge, teetering on the edge between hope and flame—waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A circling dance of chaos and certainty. Windows opening, closing, opening again in brown-and-black patterns that swirled before his eyes...

_"Slash Blast!" _

With a powerful yell, the boy flew down to take the drums, the dance, swinging his Fork on a Stick with power drawn from mana. As it met the monsters beyond a dark cloud of sand, they gave terrified groans and squeals, the white-hot metal burning into their flanks and jaws and throats. Whirling in a dance, in a chase, he slashed in every direction he could find, into every ounce of flesh he could lay his weapon on. _Survival, _he chanted unto himself, silently, steadily. _Survival or death. Take your pick. _And he raged and battled on through the thick of shadows, tearing about like a savage tangled in ropes, ready to win and to conquer.

The dust cleared; around him stood boars in messy ranks, their backs blazing and eyes red—and Lupins, teeth bared in pain. Some bore gashes, deep, nonetheless; some looked ready to charge at him. He only saw all this for a few seconds, before the monsters surged in his direction, eyes narrowed, boar tusks extended in menace.

Ketara's cry of pain was as fierce and as livid as tusks were buried into the flesh of his leg, jabbing themselves through the chain-mail that was supposed to protect him. The flames on their backs burnt his arms, and all was flashing for that second. He was pelted with banana skins, the points hitting his head and face hard.

_Eww, _he thought to himself, wiping the gooey remnants of banana skin off his face, stumbling back to stand as he threw the monsters off. _Just like I did, so many months ago. Just like last time. _Rising and standing again was nothing much, after hundreds of falls off trees and rocks in the Dungeon, after slipping in hidden mud puddles and tripping over roots. He could fight on. There was still a vast well of energy in him.

He Slashed again, with ripping red light. The monsters around him were thrown aside, their bizarre cries making his bones shiver. His energy and mana dropped once more, and he felt more exhausted than he had been a few moments ago.

_Maybe I should change my strategy, _he thought, thoughts flying in a whirl as the monsters regrouped around him. Hitting all at once wasn't working. He had to go one by one.

_Thirty Dark Marbles…_he thought with sudden dread and exhaustion. He hadn't obtained a single one!

The best thing to do, Ketara suddenly realised, was to find a place where the monsters could not get him, but he could easily hit them.

Searching for the perfect location, he raced over to the rock face before any of the monsters could charge into him. Scrambling up onto the lowest ledge, which he could barely reach, he managed to pull himself onto it, scraping his knees and almost tearing his nails.

He caught his breath for a few seconds and looked down at the swarm of monsters below him. A banana peel suddenly came flying at the warrior, and he dodged aside, only just in time. There had to be a way. Others of the same level and strength as him had passed this test before.

_But maybe it's because they're worthy of it, and I'm not, _he noted with tiredness.

But no, he refused to give up. Not when he had trained himself so hard. Looking over the ledge, Ketara focused on one of the boars, caught up in the frenzy of the herd, and not seeming to notice the warrior watching its back from above.

"Power Strike!" he shouted, pouring his energy out in the form of a powerful attack. Unfortunately, his hidden power was not drawn out, but this attack did enough damage. Below him, the fire boar had turned to him, eyes burning into his, full of terrified pain.

Again, he struck. The boar tried to leap to where he stood, but missed the edge of the ledge, hooves scrabbling on the rock, for loss of blood. Ketara saw his chance to finish it, and finding a weak spot to the left of its spine, he ran it through with his Fork on a Stick, digging it sideways once it was in. A chunk of its flesh almost detached from its body, and it fell, dead.

No Dark Marble.

Trying not to let despair consume him, Ketara searched for a different enemy. The hoots and screeches of the Lupins drew his attention, and he wondered if more of them held the treasure he sought.

Hitting the annoying monster with the point of his spear, he found the point meeting its leg, tearing into its flesh. It gave a call of anger and pain, before turning to him, ready to jump. This time, he wasn't so lucky. It leapt to his level with ease, and for the first time, he noticed how long its claws were.

_I can do this, I can do this!_ Raising his spear bravely, he acted as his reflexes told him. _The stomach, the stomach is its weakness!_

The Lupin flew forward and swept its claws over his face. At the same moment, ready, Ketara shifted the spear forward with some force, allowing the monster's momentum to do the rest of the damage. It screamed, a sound of terror that made his spine tingle. "Power Strike!" Again, he used the high-powered attack, to great effect this time. His weapon tore its entire arm off, the flames that accompanied his attack turning its fur black.

"Try this!" He launched forward with one more attack, and the monkey fell back, mouth falling open. Its hand fell open, and Ketara found a round black gem in its hand, its surface gleaming. Too exhausted to feel joyful, he grabbed the object and stuffed it down his pocket.

Hours passed like minutes. Ketara repeatedly targeted one monster at a time, returning higher to rest for ten minutes at a time, before returning to the low ledge to kill more monsters. The Dark Marbles in his pocket began to weigh more and more, and so did the pain of the injuries he was receiving. He had only one quarter of the potions he had bought the day before, and only seventeen Dark Marbles.

_I know it's possible, _he thought, more confidently now. He had collected more than half the number he needed, the objects still cold in his pocket, even though they had been in there for hours, unwarmed by his body.

He had been unable, as of yet, to unlock his hidden power. Intermittently he wondered why he was unable to do so, when it had been so easy other times. He seemed to be able to manage it when under a lot of pressure. Maybe this wasn't bad enough a situation for his powers to show themselves.

Just as the sun was setting, Ketara found his twenty-sixth marble. The fire boar's flames died down, its mouth falling open. From between its tusks, he took the Dark Marble, disliking the feeling of the fur and skin encircling his hand, before leaping back up the ledges to a safe spot above.

_I have to finish this fast! Now! _His desperate thoughts spun around like a whirlwind. The sun was descending fast beyond the mountain peaks, the skylight growing darker, the firelight below his vision growing brighter. Soon, he would be caught in the grasp of the night, and he would never find his Dark Marbles that way.

Taking a last glance at the setting sun, Ketara threw away all thought and common sense, for thinking would keep him from his goal, and he leapt off the ledge, into what now looked like a flaming pit of Spirit's Passageway, the legendary punishing ground.

He knew that he had to do it now, or never pass the test. Already, their smell and warmth were engulfing him in an unending tide, and at once, instinct told him to make his move. _Now!_

"Slash Blast!" Ketara knew that this would do nothing, and that the monsters would bury him under their weight, smother him to death. But who cared! He would make it out. He _would. _He would come out victorious.

As his spear went in a full circle around him, he felt pain jab him as his arms tore through all the monsters that surrounded him immediately, and he pushed it to the back of his mind; there was no room for thought about pain now. Flames licked at his heart, blazing in him like a growing furnace, and all at once, his arms, his body was filled with inhuman energy.

_Yes! I needed this! _Once again, an enormous well of energy reopened within him, giving him power that grew stronger as the sky darkened. He took a gasp mid-move, thrusting his head to the sky. Stars! They shone on him, and the very sight of them, rushing through the pathways of space-time, raised his spirits and his strength.

And his body moved of its own accord, suddenly—stabbing, swinging, slashing, anticipating attacks even before they came, and fending them off instantaneously. All at once, he was standing among heaped carcasses, the boars' flames dead, the Lupins sprawled across the ground. Four glossy marbles shone prominent against the mass of fur and carrion.

Giving an exclamation of triumph, Ketara climbed up the ledge, the last four marbles now in his pocket, which was weighing him down a great deal. Wondering briefly if Dances with Balrog was still there, he climbed up the darkening ledges, rough at his touch, with amazing agility.

"Well-fought!" Dances with Balrog still stood watching, no trace of tiredness or boredom. "You took at least an hour less than an ordinary person." _Really?_

Ketara was genuinely surprised. "Have you been standing here all this while?" he asked, quite shocked that he had had the patience to stay and watch the entire process of his terrible battle. All of a sudden, the after-effects of his sudden rush of power seemed to wear off, and he felt tired, sleepy, completely fatigued.

"H-hey, I need…a rest," he said, shoulders hunched.

Dances with Balrog nodded. "Your Dark Marbles first," he replied, holding out his battle-worn hand. Ketara looked up and reached into his pocket, trying to gather up all the marbles in his hand. In the end, he decided to get ten marbles out at a time, and he did so, counting off the thirty marbles, terrified that he had fallen short of one or two.

Thankfully, triumphantly, he produced the thirtieth marble from his pocket, letting this last handful of ten fall into the Job Master's hand. Ketara smiled, that smile in itself unable to contain all the joy and success, relief and exhaustion that now welled inside him.

"Good job, Ketara," Dances with Balrog repeated. "I'm sure you want to get your job advancement now, instead of having to go all the way back to the Warrior's Sanctuary, right?" Ketara nodded eagerly.

The Perion chief smiled and nodded. Then, holding Ketara's face in his palms, he said, "Then, by the powers of the Dragon, I hereby name you…a Spearman." Ketara gasped as heat, burning, swept through his face, down through his heart and his entire body. He heard a colossal roar behind him, and a bright flash illuminated everything around him for an instant.

Then it faded, and he was staring into Dances with Balrog's eyes, slightly dizzy, panting with something that felt like fear. At once, realization struck him that he was a Spearman. A true Spearman! It felt amazing just to know.

"Well, so, Ketara, tell me what you're going to do after this," he said.

Ketara looked up at the starry sky. "I…I don't actually know," he admitted, to the chief, and to himself.

Dances with Balrog quickly jumped to his unexpected offer. "Then do you want to come and become my secretary?" he exclaimed. "I've been needing one for years; all my stuff is in a mess."

Knowing that he had nothing better to do now, the Spearman nodded with a smile. "No problem, as long as I get to meet new people!" he replied excitedly. "Are you sure a twelve-year-old would do?"

"Yeah, of course! Come on, your job starts tomorrow! You need some rest."

The two walked back towards Perion in the mountain autumn wind.

_Time for a new chapter to start, I guess, _Ketara thought.

* * *

_zethis: party quest_

_At last!_

Zethis had spent the entire autumn training in Kerning. He, at last, had reached the fruit of his long labour—he was now level 21, eligible for the kerning Party Quest.

All around him as he ran, the streets, lamps and parapets decorated with blankets of snow.

"PQ! Need two more members!" the calls of the party leaders at the Party Quest entrance were excited in the cold air, and Zethis raced up towards the small crowd he saw at the opening of the pipes.

The warrior glanced about at the people who crowded the entrance, all not seeming to notice him. Which was just as well. He didn't like to be noticed, especially by people he didn't know. Even though he was a year older, he hadn't gotten over his fear of strangers.

A snowfall had started again, and the boy looked up to see the snowflakes descending from the clouds towards him, in a blinding whirl of fantasy.

"Need a party?" Just as Zethis was enjoying the view above, a boy, probably around his age, leapt in front of him with a bright smile and an exclamation.

"Aargh!" he could hardly contain his scream of terror. Heart pounding, he quickly regained composure, taking a closer look at his "attacker".

"Whoa, easy," the boy said, trying to get the warrior to calm down. "Do you want a party?"

Noting his words for the first time, Zethis nodded. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Raydan," he said, holding his bow behind his back. "Level 29 bowman. Ah, can't wait for second job!"

Zethis nodded and bowed, now embarrassed about his initial response to Raydan's invitation. "Uh…uh…Zethis," he answered, stammering. "I'm level—level twenty-one!"

The bowman held out a hand to his forehead, giving him a sudden jolt of heat above his eyes. "Welcome to my party," Raydan replied. "By the way, you have nice hair. I wish my hair were as light as yours."

"Ah—" That remark had caught him by surprise, and Zethis couldn't say any more than that. He glanced up at the strands of straw-gold hair that poked into his vision, then back at the boy's dark gold. "Er…thanks…" No one had ever said anything about his _hair _before. He swept it back self-consciously.

"So," Raydan went on. "Party Quest next?" He called out behind himself, and three others soon came, among them another bowman, as well as a cleric and a female mage. "This is the rest of our party, for this PQ."

Zethis smiled nervously at them, mumbling a soft "hi".

About an hour after Raydan had gone to stand in queue for the Party Quest, he suddenly came running towards them, grinning. "We're next!" He called. Zethis had not spoken to any of the other three members, and neither had they spoken to each other: it seemed that none of them knew any of the others. Raydan's shout had given him a shock.

Almost instantly, Zethis saw the whirl of a staff gem in the hand of a robed woman, somewhere off in the distance. At once, the bricks, the tar of Kerning around him began to whiten, whiten, fade around him as he watched.

The shrill cry of a marsh bird sent him flying out of his daze. Marsh bird? He was definitely in a different place now. It smelt different, and was hotter. A lot hotter. There was not a hint of snow here.

Slowly, Zethis looked around to take in the new scenery and smell around him. Water, everywhere, gleaming under the sun, under the light that flowed in from between the leaves. Mud, its smell surrounding him, the brown sludge thick below his feet.

Ligators! He saw the huge reptilian beasts lying by the rocks and swamp banks, rough olive skin shiny and wet with mud and slime.

"Stay down here!" Raydan's voice suddenly reminded him, thankfully, that he was not alone in this new area. The bowman was racing towards the sleepy crocodiles that lay, feet on the marsh bed. "Go get your quest from Cloto!"

"C-Cloto?" Zethis called in puzzlement, before seeing the mystically-dressed, staff-wielding woman around whom two of the others were standing. He ran over as well, feeling the mud splash on his unguarded upper shins.

The woman, Cloto, waited expectantly as he gasped out about his "quest" to her.

She nodded. "You must gain the number of tickets equivalent to the level you have to be to become a thief, warrior or bowman," she explained simply.

The number took no thought to to figure out. How to get them, though, stumped him. He looked about and saw where all the other party members stood, battling Ligators.

Zethis swallowed, heart suddenly thumping madly. Ligators? He knew that they were too powerful for him to handle. He would never get the tickets…

"Zethis! How many do you need?" Zethis had not caught Raydan's words the first time, so he ran closer to the edge of solid ground, where it gently sloped into the swamp, to listen.

"Ten," he replied, again remembering his companions. Would Raydan really be able to get so many for him?

It seemed so. The bow-user stood on a facing bank of the swamp, arrows flying from the weapon in his hands like birds leaping off a tree branch. One by one, he shot the monsters down, each one allowing a yellow card to float out of its mouth as it sank into the depths of the marsh in a trail of bubbles. Raydan snatched each one up swiftly as he waded a short way into the water.

Zethis waited a while, watching in fascination as the rest of the party fired at the monsters, the creatures occassionally evading their attacks, the spells and arrows plunging down into the swamp as well. He became conscious, all of a sudden, of the sword that hung useless at his side.

The instant he saw Raydan and the rest racing to where he was, he knew that they were all done. Sometimes, I wish I could distance-attack, he thought with a twinge of regret that he was unable to do so. The only thing he could do was use the Three Snails skill, which was not very useful.

"Come on now," Raydan said, pushing a bundle of yellow tickets into his free left hand. They were wet, but amazingly clean and dirt-free.

Zethis bowed. "Thanks," he said sincerely.

At the gate, Cloto fed the tickets one by one through the electric gate, until there were enough, and it slid vertically open.

They stepped over into the next stage, Cloto following them. Considering that they were walking over mud, she was still as elegant as ever, as she treaded across the muddy ground.

"Two people are needed for this stage," she said as they came to a stop next to another electric gate. "I need two of you to try hanging on these vines in different combinations. Once the right combination is found, the door will open."

Raydan glanced at the four other party members, who looked back, Zethis included.

"You," he said, picking the mage. "And you." Zethis suddenly felt faint as the bowman grabbed his arm and dragged him over.

The two of them began to climb up the four vine ropes that hung from the treetops, trying each rope in cycles as the gate repeatedly refused to open for them. Zethis found it not as hard as he had thought to climb, but the rough surfaces of the vines were beginning to make his hands blister.

"Yes!" Finally, the gate decided to open as Zethis finally found himself climbing a new rope. Gladly, he leapt off the vine rope, brushing his hands on his pants before following the rest through the glowing green doorway.

The other side of the gate was totally unlike the area they had just exited. As Zethis stepped through, he felt cold wash through him, and suddenly found himself in the middle of a dark forest, the swamp bird sounds replaced by the endless rustle of leaves and the cries of forest creatures. He was almost blind here, if not for the row of torches that burnt in the trunks of the gnarled, pillar-like trees.

The third stage was another "combinations" stage, except that there were six barrels with kittens in them, and that three people had to do it this time. Zethis took a rest while the other three progressed with the tiring search for the right combination of barrels.

About ten minutes did it, and soon, the next gate spun into life, a whirl of green lights that shone stark in the darkness of the shade of branches.

"Here goes, our last stage," Raydan called out to the rest, before his figure vanished through the gate.

Once all were through, there were sparks all around, and huge lizard beasts appeared, wide single eyes gleaming yellow like topazes that glared brightly at them.

"Arrow Blow!" Raydan's arrow caught the first, making it wince in pain as the projectile spun into its eye with a burst of bright blue.

"Magic Claw!" the Cleric boy's powerful spell ripped through its eye, bringing death upon it. Zethis ran into the battle, as did the rest, and began to fight, fight the monsters that lay, challenging, ahead.

Death followed death as the arrows, magic and blades tore through the monsters one by one, the party members extracting one ticket from each fallen monster, tossing their bodies aside to clear their path.

"King Slime," Raydan said, leading them through the trees, towards their final step to victory. Just beyond, the thumps of the King Slime's colossal footsteps collided with their ears. "Come on, it won't be too hard. Zethis, stay clear for the time being."

Zethis complied without a complaint. He knew he would not survive anyway. Still, he yearned, as he watched the rest inch closer, aim, and attack the boss with their long-range attacks, to have powers like theirs. It was something he had wished more than once this day already.

Bang. Whizz. Rumble. The battle ended quickly as it had begun, the bag of slime tumbling over the roots, its life liquid drained from a leeching hole in its front. The rest of the party cheered, before Raydan called out to Zethis, and they departed together.

The instant they arrived before Cloto and she swept her staff over them, Zethis saw a shower of blue all around him, as he suddenly gained another level upon the completion of their quest.

"Thanks," he said sincerely as they materialized outside, before the canal at the entrance to the swamp, the sounds of gushing water drowning out most of the chatter of the other waiting parties. Raydan nodded.

Something glinted on the bowman's neck. Unsure but curious all the same, he glanced down at the pendant that hung on his chest—a bright-jewelled ornament which seemed to shine with more power than was apparent.

Raydan noticed Zethis' interest in the pendant and held it up. "My sister has a guild," he replied. "I just joined it a few months ago." He was silent for a while. Then his eyes sparked all of a sudden. "Oh! Would you like to end the suffering in Victoria Island?"

Zethis looked on, puzzled, then nodded. "I-is it something to do with your guild?" he asked.

Raydan nodded with a grin. "Then come with me! We'll find my sis, and she'll guild you."

_Come with me! _The words echoed back from a distant memory. Of course! Those were the words he had heard, that moment, when Dances with Balrog had sent him spiraling into a world of stars, for a few, breathtaking seconds. Those words of fate, that had been uttered so calmly in his vision, now recurred.

Was this fate for him? Not knowing, he followed Raydan, his new friend, through the streets of Kerning.

* * *

_ralinn: blessing of shadow_

The huntress, unknowing that someone now sought her, strolled the dimming street, snow-laid. The snow had stopped falling for a while already, and it was beginning to thaw a little. By next snowfall, the ground would be slippery, and extremely dangerous.

_When is Raydan going to be done…_she pondered continuously. Her brother had gone for the Kerning Party Quest, and had not yet returned to this spot, where they had promised to meet. Where was he?

She glanced up at the sky as it faded, and the clouds masked the dawning starscape once again. Then, looking ahead at the building before her, she gave a scream. A dark figure, completely black-clothed, was perched on the parapet of the second level, eyes peering from over a black mask at her.

The man leapt down. He was taller than she; hair black as the night sky, eyes narrowed. Instantly, she recognized him for who he was.

"D-Dark Lord…" Ralinn's gasp faded in her throat.

The man pulled off his mask and smiled sadly. He was incredibly handsome. Ralinn tried not to meet his gaze. He looked to be in his twenties, but there was experience in his eyes that far surpassed that age.

"Athena Pierce's student?" he asked, coming closer and eyeing her bow, which she gripped tighter..

"Her close friend too," Ralinn replied, as if saying so would raise her status in the eyes of the thief Job Master.

It did. The Dark Lord walked a circle around her, eyes still filled with sadness she could not understand. "I miss her," he sighed. "She is fine, isn't she?"

Slightly surprised at the emotion in his voice, she nodded. She had recognized it instantly as love. _Is it possible…?_

"Glad to know," was his reserved reply. "Whom are you waiting for? You have been here for a long time."

"Have you been watching me so long?" she asked, taken aback. "I'm…waiting for my brother. He's at the Kerning Party Quest."

He nodded. "I don't know why, but…I can sense a grand, epic future for you," he said. "You might come close to death more than once. So I grant you my blessing." Before Ralinn had registered what he had said, he had taken her face in his hands, as Athena had done in her job advancements. A jolt of black shot through her eyes, and she shivered, feeling the darkness infuse her entire body.

"Don't take this blessing figuratively, as most are," he advised. "When you require my power, think of me, think of this day, and I will be there to help you."

Ralinn gasped softly, and opened her mouth to thank the Dark Lord, but the instant the words were in her throat, he had vanished into the deep evening, leaving not even a trail of footprints in the snow.

"Ralinn! Ralinn, there you are!" the familiar voice brought a smile toher lips as she whipped around, to see her brother racing towards them, leading another boy around his age towards her.

The boys came to stop before her, panting hard as if they had sprinted all the way. The first thing Ralinn noticed about her brother's companion was his golden hair, light even in the sunset.

He looked up at her face, looking strangely afraid of her. "Uh…you're…Raydan's sister?" he inquired nervously. "Ralinn?" Ralinn nodded.

He paused, thinking. "It's you! Athena Pierce wishes to say hello to you!" his exclamation was amazingly loud, as compared to how softly and fearfully he had spoken earlier. His voice reverted to its original volume instantly. "Hi, I'm—I'm Zethis…"

"Nice to meet you, Zethis," Ralinn replied, feeling a little self-conscious because of his nervousness.

"He wants to join your guild," Raydan cut in.

Suddenly, she recalled the voice, the second, soft voice.

"Find me, guide me, lead my blindness

Grant the wishes in my heart.

Hold your smile, show me your kindness

Stay by me, right from the start."

Had that been his voice? "Do you wish to put an end to the suffering in Victoria Island?" she questioned. He nodded, eyes bright with light she rarely saw in anyone's.

So, in the midst of the snowy nightfall, she put the pendant round his neck, and it was done. The third member had been found.

* * *

_end of the year_

Zethis, Raydan and Ralinn stood in the snow, still for a few moments, watching the dance of the stars.

Ketara peered out of the window from behind Dances with Balrog's messy desk, taking a momentary break from his tiring chore.

Shirion watched the clouds uncover the sickle-moon from the branch of an Ellinian tree, praying on the starlight for freedom.

Turino and Telida lay sleepless in a hollow, the snow and the sky shaded from them by the ancient, tangled branches.

Akera lay sleeping in a hidden shed within the abandoned fields of Henesys, eyes closed from the faint lights above, ever watching, ever singing their lullabies.

_It is only a matter if time before everything starts to happen._

_Enter the Year of the Pig._

* * *

Don't ask. I think Dark Lord and Athena Pierce make a nice pair (I don't know if you think the same...)

Reviews please.

Thank you so much for that compliment. I think I can say that my music is better than my art. I can't say the same about my voice, though... I'm a songwriter-not-singer (not professional though).

Just something that your comment seems to hint at, which I want to clarify. Are you an album producer?


	3. Year of the Pig

This chapter is finally done! Don't kill me for the length, I know about it already. But I've got an A/N to post, to answer lots of questions. So here it is.

**1** Chapter titles. Yes, I am Chinese. No, it will not be twelve years long, otherwise everyone is going to be in their twenties by the time it ends (gasp)! If you're smart, you'd have worked out how long this story is going to span, and when it is going to end. The clues are blatantly there. Just put them together.

**2** Names. I invented ALL these names. I don't care what weird searches you turn up on Google. They were all original...until I went to search them.

**3** Dark Lord x Athena Pierce. Fine, I've only seen one fanfic with this. And I liked it. I've actually written a 50 page fanfic on this pairing, and to date, only Arcanine Majesty has read it. No one else has, and no one else shall.

**4 **I invented the prologue legend, the Spear of Heaven and the guild pendant thing. Don't bother Minerva's Owling for the Spear in FM.

**5 **Romance. Good news, all you people who don't like romance: there will be no romance for the next four chapters. Then...there will be. There will be 8 couples, in fact. Pairings, rather. Including Dark Lord and Athena, which has already been mentioned. This includes 5 pairings within the guild (some are one-sided), 1 between two "people" (you'll get it at chapter 8), and 1 between someone in the guild and someone not in the guild. Don't try to guess, since I haven't finished introducing all the characters yet. There will be foreshadowing.

For now, be happy that you have this to read. Enjoy, and those who are reviewing, thank you.

WOOHOO! **3** chapters, and it's the 7th longest fic in Maple! Ranks 1-6 all have more chapters. MUAHAHAHAHA. Welcome the new entry to the "more than 40,000 words" archive!

* * *

Chapter 3: Year of the Pig

_lanoré: companion_

Alone, the seventeen-year-old Ice Lightning Mage ascended the hill. The letter had given her this address, so it must be this place.

All around her, there was the amazing, refreshing aroma of flowers and dew, the sweetness filling her with joy. Yes, the world was darkening, but why not enjoy the beauty that still existed while it lasted?

At last, standing at the top of the windy hill, she found herself facing the mansion of a rich man—not something she had expected. _So…my applicant is from a rich family?_

She knocked on the door, not nervous, for she knew that she had no reason to fear them—she was far above their level of skill, anyway…

"Please come in," a man wearing a uniform welcomed her into the posh place. She removed her shoes and stepped upon the expensive marble flooring of the mansion. Lanoré took a quick glance around to assess her surroundings—immaculate, well-arranged furniture—shelves of books and ornaments, tables— all around the entrance hall, the walls made of beautiful beige rock. Around the hall, there were tall hardwood doors, which undoubtedly led on to other rooms on that level.

Moments later, she glanced back at the man, to find that he was already on the way to the spiral staircase at the end of the room. Quickly, she followed, leaving the entrance hall behind.

The owners of the house were there to greet her, at the top of the marble stairs. Three stood there—a man of about thirty-five years of age, his hair short and brown, arms structured like a bowman's, a woman with long blonde hair held by a pink lace ribbon, and a girl of about ten, her hair the same brown as her father's, a look of curiosity mingled with uncertainty in her eyes.

"Good morning, Sir and Madams," she greeted them, bowing. "I am Lanoré, pleased to meet you."

"The Silver Fang of El Nath," she heard the woman gasp. "Yes, yes, our daughter would like to become your assistant!" She looked excited all of a sudden. Was it really such a great thing to be her assistant?

The girl stepped forward nervously. "I'm Clynine," she said softly. Lanoré examined her face—straight brown hair framed her somewhat pretty face, her brown eyes searching the Ice Lightning Mage with equal interest as she did the girl's.

"What is your job?" Lanoré inquired.

"Magician, level sixteen," she replied hopefully. Lanoré could see the deep want in her eyes to become her assistant. At least twenty had applied for the job; she had turned down the last ten or so. She was powerful, she did not deny it, but she had not expected so many to want to be her assistant.

Why she needed one, she had never had a clear reason. It was simply the fact that she would need someone to help her if she was to be able to face greater enemies in the future, and somehow purge El Nath of the king of Victoria Island's guards.

So many had proven unworthy already. Would she be another of them? Lanoré didn't enjoy having to turn so many down, all whom she had found not strong enough to be deserving. She would find out soon.

"Clynine, perform any spell," she said. Her parents looked at her strangely, but she did not look away. After some hesitation, Clynine began to glance about for her staff. No staff anywhere. She raised her hands anyway, and pulled back her sleeves.

_Without a staff? _Lanoré mused. _This will be interesting._

The girl performed what might have been an energy bolt. But in every respect it was not one—it was too bright, not the usual blue, but white as daylight, and brighter than the sun.

"Was that an Energy Bolt?" the mage asked, impressed, to say the least. She nodded, eyes cast down.

"I…I did it wrong again." Her eyes were downcast, her hands clasped behind her back.

Lanoré came closer and shook her head. "Clynine, that is the most amazing Energy Bolt I've ever seen in my life."

The young mage looked up into the Ice Lightning mage's eyes, wondering, amazed and incredulous. "B-but it was _white, _"she replied. "I never do it right. How could you think that it was good?"

"It's not about the colour," Lanoré replied smiling, placing an arm on her shoulder. "Others are only able to form bolts of untamed energy. But you have learnt to direct the powers of light and cancel the others. You are gifted in light magic." She looked up at the ceiling, thinking. She was special—an extremely small number of mages could direct a specific type of magic at such a low level of training. "I like that."

Her parents looked on hopefully, and Clynine herself looked at her interlocked fingers, pale with the cold.

The moment of tension finally broke. Lanoré took her hand and bowed. "You have such a gifted daughter," she commended the mage's parents. "She is worthy. From today onwards, she will be my assistant."

Her parents were suddenly crying tears of joy, hugging their daughter and telling her to be a good girl. "I told you it was nothing to worry about," her father gasped, Clynine in his arms. "You do us proud, alright?"

Clynine looked up tearfully. "Will I get to see you again?" she asked, holding him tightly. Both her parents smiled, her father ruffling her hair.

"Of course, darling," he replied. "We'll be here, waiting for you and Lanoré to come back, after you two defeat the king's guards."

By evening, she had her bag packed. Lanoré waited at the bottom of the stairs, and when she came, tears still stained her cheeks. Her staff was in her right hand now, the wood carved skillfully.

"We'll be here," her parents promised once again, at the middle of the spiral staircase. She waved, and together, the two went to the door, stepped out; Clynine turned back and waved once more.

Then the spring evening surrounded them, the petals that fluttered through the sunset, the blades of grass that swayed at the wind's brush, and the sweet smells of an ending day, a dawning year.

"Come, we're going back to El Nath."

And they began.

* * *

_shirion: blood, sweat and tears_

Level seventy.

Finally. Panting as he pulled himself to the heights of the Cold Cradle, blood-drenched and newly revived by his level-up, Shirion knew that it meant he was ready for his third job. He had laboured day and night for a year, since escape, training, sometimes, till his body could move no longer. Now, the fruits of his labour had been borne.

Thirty levels in two years was no easy feat. He now saw the scars and marks that battling monsters above his level had left on him. He had survived battle after battle—at the last moment, he had always felt a sudden surge of energy within his body, and each time, it had saved him from near-certain death.

Who cared how he had come to his seventieth level? He had made it. Now, he would head to the Warrior's Sanctuary and take his third job test. It wasn't far.

A day of traveling got the Crusader-to-be to his destination. By the end of the day, he had ascended and descended four peaks of the range, even the summer afternoon air not enough to warm away the cold that came from the high altitudes.

"Shirion! It's been such a long time! How are you?" The Warrior Job Master was smiling as he opened the door. "You're here to become a Crusader, I'd suppose. You are fast. I always knew that you would rise faster than other warriors do!"

Shirion did not return the smile. "Yes," he replied in one word. "When can I start?"

Dances with Balrog nodded slowly. "You are very intent on advancing, I see," he commented, smiling at the boy. "Well, come in and take a rest first; you look worn out."

Grateful that the chief had offered, Shirion entered the Sanctuary and glanced about—his shelves and benches were in their place, just as they had all been four years ago, when he had last visited. But, he also came to notice, the table was completely tidy, unlike last time—his scrolls were neatly shelved, his books piled in a corner on a shelf he had never noticed before.

Dances with Balrog noted his wondering gaze. He grinned. "My secretary has done quite a neat job, hasn't he?"

"Secretary?" His voice was more surprised as he had hoped it would come out.

"Ketara, nice boy he is. He wanted to join the tribe, but changed his mind after he went to the Dungeon," the Job Master replied. "He's restocking his potions right now. Should be back any time now…"

Shirion took in what he had just been told. "Sounds like a girl's name," he said. "Ke-tara. Keta-ra." No matter how he tried to pronounce it, it sounded like a girl's name.

About ten minutes after their conversation began, there was another knock on the door. Dances with Balrog went instantly to answer it, and he returned to the centre of the room with another boy. He looked to be about thirteen, his hair dark brown, almost as dark as black, the colour of ebony, falling up to his shoulders. His fringe covered his eyebrows, his charming face in a wide smile to see Shirion.

"Hey there! Who're you?" His exclamation would have sounded rude if said by anyone else, but not by his voice.

"Hello, I'm Shirion," he introduced himself to the smiling boy, a warrior, from the looks of it. "I'm here to become a Crusader. You must be Ketara, Dances with Balrog's secretary?"

He nodded brightly. "A Fighter? Oh, you're the ones who use swords and axes, aren't you?" He glanced down at Shirion's sword and watched it as if it might move of its own accord. "I'm a Spearman. Good luck on your third job advancement, by the way!"

Ketara initially came across as very childish, especially for a thirteen year old. But somehow, Shirion could see, in his mannerisms, that Ketara knew and had seen more than what an ordinary second-job warrior had.

Shirion had always been a good judge of character, he admitted to himself. He had watched people for his entire life, and he knew from his actions that Ketara was actually a mature boy, though his love for meeting new people probably overrode that at the moment.

And then, there was some strange, silent suffering behind that gaze of his…

The secretary turned back to Dances with Balrog, and they began a small conversation about the prices of goods at the potion shop. He never stopped smiling as they spoke, and he treated the chief as his equal, not a superior, Shirion noted.

"So now, I have a job advancement to attend to," Dances with Balrog announced, standing. "Come with—"

Suddenly, Ketara gave a loud gasp and staggered back from the pit of fire at the centre of the Sanctuary. He held his head in his hands and shook his head hard, blinking. "_What…what was—" _His words were hardly audible.

"Ketara?" Shirion called tentatively. The Spearman forced a smile and sighed.

"It was nothing, really. Just one of my regular—faint attacks."

Shirion wondered why he would be saying something then, if he were about to faint. But he decided not to pursue that trivial matter.

Dances with Balrog who, had stood aside all the while, came forward. "You sure, Ketara?" The boy nodded. "Alright then, Shirion," he turned his eyes to the Fighter. "Come with me." Shirion nodded and stood from his seat, allowing the Warrior Job Master to lead him.

The peaks and points of the Perion skyline became familiar immediately. He kept his eyes on Dances with Balrog's back, and vaguely wondered how the chief survived with such thin clothes. But that thought was championed by the growing nervousness that expanded steadily in his heart. How long had it been since he had taken the second job test? That one had been hard, to say the least. Would this one be similar?

"Here," the chief said, coming to stop along one of the pathways. He turned to the left, to the mountainside, and Shirion saw the cave mouth that gaped in the rock face. Just then, Dances with Balrog gave a small curse, and the youth felt the man's powerful, weapon-worn arm drag him aside.

"King's policemen," he whispered as Shirion found himself behind a corner of the cliff. He saw the men riding through the mountain pathways below, towards the tents beyond. He knew the need for silence—job advancements were an illegal procedure, under a law the king had passed at least ten years ago, or so he had heard.

They took a while to leave this side of the mountain, both holding their breaths as they watched. All Shirion could hear was his heartbeat and breathing, both in messily superimposed rhythms.

_Someday, you _will _be gone, _he thought darkly as they marched away. _You will leave Victoria Island as it should be. Free._

He felt a tug on his arm. "Follow now." He trailed Dances with Balrog to the cave, his movements suddenly wary.

They came to a stop at the mouth. Shirion glanced in, but didn't say anything. His heartbeat ruled everything else as his hands grew progressively sweatier as he prospected about his third job advancement.

The Job Master's instructions were simple enough. "Go in, kill what you find, and take the Black Charm that you obtain." But in that cave, he knew, awaited a terrible challenge, one that he possibly might not survive.

"What if I die in there?" he asked, voicing his worries.

The chief shook his head with amusement. "No, you can't die, of course. The creature has been made such that it will not kill you." While Shirion's mouth fell open, the Job Master walked a little way into the cave. He turned back. "You want your third job, don't you?"

That reminder was all he needed. The Crusader-to-be shut his eyes for a few seconds and breathed in, trying, failing, to calm himself. Then he ran and left the brightness of the sun behind, with only his armour and sword to protect him now.

The darkness went on for a few minutes, and Shirion groped blindly down the walls, trusting that one sense to take him to the heart where his battle waited, for that was all he had in this blindness. The walls were silent and the distances concealing.

Brightness gradually lit his vision. It came so slowly that he did not realize until it was lightly cast against the walls around him, at his fingers, and he became aware that he could dimly see the shadow of his hand.

Then he came into a wider pathway, where growths of crystal dotted the walls. The torches came into view soon, casting their light on the shiny minerals that made up the entire walls.

Shirion glanced up. He had heard a growl. He gasped. Before him, in person, stood Dances with Balrog. Now, he had a shining green weapon in his hand, one he had never seen before, he was sure.

"D-Dances with Balrog? How did you get here—"

He didn't say a word, only leapt forward in the changing torchlight, axe shining for a moment in his eyes before he swung out to parry it with his own sword. The weapons clanged loudly on each other, and the chief, or at least what appeared to be him, stepped back, face showing no signs of any emotions.

Shirion, too, stood back for a moment, shocked. "Chief Dances with Balrog," he repeated worriedly. He didn't understand what was going on. What was the Job Master doing _in _the cave, when he had just seen him _outside _a few minutes ago? He had not heard anyone pass him while he had been on the way.

His momentary lapse of attention cost him an injury. Dances with Balrog had lost every dredge of emotion, and had given him a sharp blow in his right leg. Shirion whirled around and faced the creature. He was sure it wasn't the Job Master.

The battle was swift, leaving no time for careful consideration before the next blow had to be made. No chances could be passed over, every wasted moment a threat to his existence. But he couldn't allow that thought to distract him. Regardless of the appearance of his foe, he knew that he had to fight like it were a real enemy, like the creature _wasn't _human, for it was what held the quarry of his search.

The chief-look-alike knew how to battle as well as the real one did. They fought constantly, Shirion knowing that a single mistake would end his attempt to reach his long awaited, hard-fought-for third job. All that work he had put in that year, rising from level 45 to level 70…he couldn't let it go to waste…

If it was a replica of a human, the Fighter thought grimly, it had the same weaknesses as one. It would die if he struck its neck, or heart, probably...

This new revelation stuck in his mind. His strokes were more directed now, with the assurance that this thing had a weakness, that it could die as well. What it was to him, he was to it. He had the strength it had, from all his battles with the drakes of the mountains. It was now a matter of who struck the killing blow first.

Shirion's sword tore the replica's skin many times, but it drew no blood, none of the red liquid that only ran in real humans' flesh. Its weapon tore his clothes many times, crushed against his armour, ripped his skin a few times. It was nothing; the pain was nothing compared to the dig of dragon fangs, or the tear of their claws. The battle was too simple. He didn't feel tired.

The fight went on almost half an hour, neither giving the other any chance to gain the upper hand. _No, it won't defeat me, not this mindless creature, _Shirion's mental voice snarling through his brain as his reflexes pulled him away from another potentially fatal strike. Exhaustion was just beginning, but it was not enough to weaken the determined Fighter.

Shirion took a plunge as the fake Dances with Balrog closed in for another attack. The axe blade swung past his head and sank into his shoulder the moment his own sword ran the clone through the chest and tore back out again. Moments later, he doubled back, the pain just beginning to creep outwards from the wound in his shoulder.

Shirion heard a burst of air. He glanced forward and saw the cloud of white that surrounded the disintegrating clone, before it vanished into a crude white paper cutout of a featureless human, and there was a clatter on the ground ahead. The fighter stepped forward, disregarding the growing pain that was coming from the wound.

The Black Charm lay where the clone had been seconds ago. Shirion lifted it with his left hand and held it tightly, not smiling, but rejoicing in his own mind.

He felt a trickle of warmth down his back and he turned to inspect the joint of his shoulder. Blood bloomed along his sleeve, a dark patch under the torchlight. It looked more painful than it really was. His armour had failed to guard it well enough.

But he had succeeded. It had been easier than he had expected.

"Chief Dances with Balrog, I've got it," he called as the point of light that marked the exit grew wider in the distance.

"As I expected," came his bright reply.

* * *

_ralinn: third song_

Ralinn suddenly found herself awake in the darkness of the cave that had been her home for days already, since she had arrived in this section of Perion.

The third song was still fresh in her mind. She had awoken as it had ended, and she pondered its words again.

_"Under joy I hide the darkness,_

_I'm afraid of what is true._

_Carefree spirit marred by terror—_

_Take me to a life anew."_

These words were the most alarming yet. Was this person hiding something so painful? Then they had better hurry and find the person soon…

_They'll come, _she thought. _We'll find this person, sooner or later._

Ralinn knew that fate would cross their paths. And it had sounded amazingly close, as if the next guild member was within a day's walk from where she sat at that moment.

* * *

_zethis: return to the bloody grounds_

The time had finally come, when he could finally return rightfully to Perion with something to claim—he was eligible for the second job advancement, at last.

It was all so strange to Zethis. He had begun his journey expecting nothing, seeming to be nothing himself—but he had gone so far in the course of three years.

He had yet to visit Ellinia and Sleepywood, but that was all. He now wielded a hammer, when all he had ever held before ten years old was a gardening hoe. So he was twelve now, and so much stronger, so much more than he had been before.

_I hope Father is still alright. Even if he isn't my real father._

The warrior had not forgotten his decision. A knight he would become, when the time came. Just like the youth who had assisted him on the first day of his journey. And when he returned to his home, he would help Father at home, and care for him better than the middle-aged man had cared for Zethis himself.

Zethis had lived with Ralinn and Raydan since the last winter, when he had first met the younger of the two at the Kerning Party Quest. They were both so kind, the same with their parents—had taken him in so graciously, fed him, kept him warm and safe, even helped him enjoy himself.

The siblings had decided to travel again, Raydan having reached level thirty at the end of the previous year. He had left for Henesys already, while Zethis and Ralinn had gone their own way north of Kerning, towards Perion, in anticipation of _his _reaching level thirty.

Now he had made it—it had been at least three days already. Now, they were climbing the last slope of the mountainside in the late afternoon, the village of tents and rock already in view from below.

Ralinn pulled herself up onto a ledge slightly higher than her shoulders. She was surprisingly agile, and Zethis, though only a few inches shorter than her, could hardly get onto the same ledge, for all the armour he wore.

"On the count of three," the huntress called down, taking firm hold of his hands as he reached upwards. At her command, he attempted to get a foothold on the short rock wall, while Ralinn pulled him upwards. This was at least the tenth time she had had to help him up, and he found it embarrassing, in the least.

Zethis managed an exhausted smile as his feet finally reached the top of the ledge. With Ralinn around, he felt a lot less nervous of travelling, especially in these treacherous areas. She was already close to level sixty, and a lot more powerful than any monster in the domain.

From then on, the path ran smoothly over the mountainside, straight to the tribal settlement. Zethis looked up at the Warrior's Sanctuary, perched high on the majestic mountaintop, and sighed when he saw what a hard climb it was there.

"Don't let exhaustion keep you from getting there," Ralinn encouraged him. "You'll get to rest a while before you take the test, I'm sure. And I'll be going too!" The warrior nodded, and they made their way towards the long pathway that wound around the mountain.

It took barely half an hour. The two arrived, panting from all the climbing, at the door of the Sanctuary.

"Well, go ahead," Ralinn said from beside him. Zethis knocked, his hand, his entire body shaking with a sudden attack of nerves. His fist made a resounding knock on the door and his heartbeat quickened double.

_Oh no, no, I'm not ready for this!_

The replying swing of the door was not the confident one he had seen the last time he had come.

"Um…yes?"

The voice _definitely _did not belong to Dances with Balrog—it sounded more like a youth whose voice had broken recently. Zethis glanced in, puzzled.

A teenager about a year older than him poked his head out the door, a smile instantly lighting up his face. "Here for first job? Second job? Come in! Dances with Balrog isn't back yet; he's with some other guy at his third job advancement, and I'm getting kinda bored. Come on in and take a seat! You both look exhausted!"

Zethis and Ralinn glanced at each other with surprise. The boy opened the door wider and invited them in again. They followed him into the Sanctuary and sat down on the stone benches at the side. Zethis assessed his appearance quickly—straight black hair that reached his shoulders, eyes about the same colour as Zethis' own—dark brown—and a face that could make girls swoon.

"I haven't introduced myself properly yet," he went on quickly. "I'm Dances with Balrog's new secretary, Ketara."

"That sounds like a girl's name." Ralinn couldn't help herself, it seemed.

To Zethis' shock, Ketara smiled. "I get that a lot," he replied and looked up at the ceiling, as if counting. "You're the eleventh person this week to say that!" He was beaming. "So…who are you, and why are you here?"

"I'm Ralinn, and I'm actually here to escort Zethis to his second job advancement," she introduced herself. Zethis looked down and blushed from embarrassment.

"Y—yeah…I'm here to—" he began, then lost all confidence in himself.

"Second job? Fighter, Spearman or page?" the secretary asked. "I'm a Spearman!"

Thankfully, Ralinn answered for him. "He wants to become a page," she told the boy. "And he's—not very good at talking to strangers."

From what Zethis had gathered, this Ketara was the direct opposite. "Good luck on it, then," he replied, sitting down on the bench as well. "Meanwhile, can you stay here a while? I'm going to bore myself to death counting his scrolls!"

Ralinn shrugged and nodded. Zethis just nodded.

"So…how did you end up being Dances with Balrog's secretary?"

Ketara began narrating his tale about his second job advancement, and Zethis quickly took in all the details. Fire Boars, Lupins, Dark Marbles…the test sounded tough. Perhaps he wouldn't even make it through…

"Then the last fireboar fell at my spear point, and the marble came out of its mouth. I was done! So I went up to the mountaintop, where Dances with Balrog made me into a Spearman. And…he asked me if I wanted to be his secretary," he finished anticlimactically. "I don't have anything to do, so I agreed. And it isn't very easy…"

Ralinn seemed interested in something else. "Why did you want to join the tribe?" she questioned wonderingly.

Ketara sighed, and for the first time, his smile disappeared. "I wanted…a…home," he answered cryptically. "I don't actually know who my real parents are. But—"

He didn't seem to want to go on. But he fought that down and continued to explain. "The only memory I have of my past is of this weird witch…and I'm really starting to think that that I—I'm not a human…that I'm that woman's creation…"

He looked terrified now. Suddenly, Zethis found his voice. "You can't be! You're very nice…"

"I don't know…" Ketara said, turning away. "It's possible. Maybe I'm a product of some witch's experiment…"

Ralinn glanced out the door, which still hung ajar. "It's getting late," she said with a sigh. Indeed, the light from outside was turning a shade of gold, and perhaps this Shirion would return only late at night—which meant that they would have to stay for one night at the Warrior's Sanctuary…

Night came upon the stone monument of a building soon enough. Maybe the third job test was almost impossible, and Shirion was stuck. Zethis hoped this wasn't the case, for many reasons.

"It seems you'll have to stay here till tomorrow morning," Ketara said, sounding wary, as he returned from the shop with their dinners. He glanced quickly through the doorway and slammed the door shut. "The guards are searching again…they come every week, hoping that they will somehow find the Sanctuary…thank goodness for Dances with Balrog's invisibility charm—they won't find us, as long as it's up, and the door's closed."

"That king is a jerk," Ralinn commented angrily. "What does he think he's doing by making us all feel afraid and disallowing job advancements? Afraid that someday, the people will rebel?" Zethis turned to her. That _was _what they were planning to do, one day.

"Exactly," Ketara replied, sitting down with the food and passing it to them. "Though it's a smart move to keep all the most powerful people in hiding. They won't be able to gain enough support to build up a rebel force, and the people will all be less willing to fight…"

The huntress nodded. "If no one does anything…I don't know how much longer we have to suffer."

_We'll do something, _Zethis thought, anger suddenly rising in his throat.

A sudden knock on the huge door fully awakened the three, who were about to fall asleep.

"Shirion has succeeded!" the chief's jubilatory voice made them all turn as he stepped in, a tall youth of about fifteen years of age following him in, holding his own shoulder tightly. He had long hair, brown in the firelight of the central pit, tied loosely by a strip of torn cloth. Zethis suddenly noticed the dark patch of deep red where his hand touched the fabric, and he gasped, looking away.

"Does he need potions?" Ketara quickly suggested helpfully, running over to the injured youth, bottles of white liquid in hand. Dances with Balrog turned to the warrior behind him, who nodded wearily.

Zethis and Ralinn watched them, not knowing what to do in this situation. A minute later, Shirion walked slowly over to the same bench on which they sat, taking a seat on Ralinn's right.

"Congratulations," she murmured to him. Now, Zethis noticed the numerous deep scratches drawn prominently across his skin. The battle must have been very hard on him.

Shirion turned and managed a weak smile at the two. "It wasn't…too bad," he said in a small sigh.

"Well, you made it, then," Ralinn replied. "Now, you're a—"

"Crusader," he answered simply, taking off the shoulder pieces of his armour. "I'm Shirion, level seventy Crusader…pleased to meet you."

"Wait for me!" Ketara called out, running over to the small gathering. "You all know me already…but anyway," he turned to Shirion. "Zethis, and Ralinn. Zethis is here for his second job advancement."

"Y—yeah, I am…" he took one look into the Crusader's dark brown eyes and lowered his gaze quickly—it was so piercing and intrusive, as if he were trying to see into his mind, and read something of the whirl of thoughts spinning in his head.

"Ralinn, level fifty-eight hunter," Zethis' companion introduced herself to everyone.

"Are you fifteen?" Shirion suddenly questioned. She was startled for a moment, then nodded, slightly puzzled. He cocked his head to a side. "Well, so am I."

The huntress looked down. "You're twelve levels higher than me," she commented. "I think I'm not training hard enough."

"No, no, I've been training like crazy, that's all. I wanted my third job fast; I've been waiting to get it for years…since I was first recaptured after escaping the stupid guards at the Ellinia Station."

Ralinn's eyes suddenly widened, and she smiled. "Recaptured? …Wow, I was captured by guards too. But only for three years, before I escaped."

The conversation inevitably led on to all their pasts, and that night, everyone learnt something of each of the others' history and experiences under the tyranny of King Caleix, came to understand each other better.

How Shirion had been born into the slave team of the Ellinia Station, how he had escaped and been on the run for three years, before he had been found and brought back into captivity.

How Ralinn had been taken from home at five, escaped at eight, and trained in secret from then on.

How Ketara had been found in the forest, just as Zethis himself had, and had been brought up by a fairy of Ellinia, who kept him in safe hiding from the king's law-enforcers, before beginning his secret journey, through Perion, the Dungeon and back.

And Zethis told his own part—of how he had learnt the truth of his parentage, of how he had gone to Henesys, been allowed through by the young guard leader that day, been advised by Athena Pierce to turn his sights to Kerning City.

By the end, they knew so much about each other, when they had been mere strangers, brought together by a chance meeting that day. Whether it had truly been chance or not, Zethis was now unsure—for somehow, he had the feeling that this had been meant to happen all along.

All slept on the floor of the Warrior's Sanctuary that day, the ground kept warm by the constant flow of magma below the rock. It had been a long day; Zethis fell asleep with no problems.

Somehow, the warrior woke up early the next morning. Perhaps it was the nervousness that the thoughts of his second job test had instilled subconsciously in him. Perhaps it was just the stirring, confusing turn of events of the previous day. Two new people in a day! And he had not handled either of the meetings well either.

Whatever it was, he was wide awake at least an hour before dawn.

Standing and giving himself a long stretch, Zethis took a glimpse around the room—Shirion had already left; the newly-made Crusader had woken up even earlier than Zethis had.

Then he shuffled over to the door and took a glance at the sky of the last hour of the night. Far ahead, he suddenly noticed the silhouette of the chief's muscular figure, far out at the edge of the mountaintop, surveying the dim, misty horizon.

He timidly turned around, but Dances with Balrog's voice stopped him. "Are you ready for the second job test?"

Zethis was alarmed for a few moments. Without turning again, he nodded, the nervous chills returning in a sudden tide. Would he make it? Would he die in the process? Did he have the capability to pass the test?

The Job Master came before him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone is afraid before they face a test," he reassured the warrior. Zethis nodded slowly, still not sure if he wanted to do this.

_I'll have to do it one day, if I want to become a White Knight any time soon, _he reminded himself. _Alright, then._

"Can I take a bath and have breakfast first?" he asked softly, watching the mist as it whirled around in Perion's firelight. Dances with Balrog stifled his laughter, and nodded.

"You'll need it—you'll be ten times dirtier and hungrier by the time you come out."

* * *

_ralinn: surprising realization_

The huntress sat bolt upright from her pallet, which had provided her with quite a comfortable sleep—good enough for her dream to recur. The song was singing deafeningly in her ears, even though she had been awake for at least a minute already.

_"Under joy I hide the darkness,_

_I'm afraid of what is true._

_Carefree spirit marred by terror—_

_Take me to a life anew."_

Again, she was shuddering with strange terror, as if the ground were shaking below her feet. If this was what that person felt, then he—she could tell his gender from his voice—must be suffering.

_What is true? Hiding darkness…under joy?_

She was truly wondering now, and at the same time fearing for his well-being. Was it important that he be found soon? And what was this "truth" that he feared? This song was so cryptic, compared to the rest.

"Good morning, Ralinn!" Her head turned instantly to the voice, and she realised that she was alone on the huge stone floor with Ketara, who looked very bright, despite having woken up just moments ago. The other three pallets were empty; Dances with Balrog, Shirion and Zethis were all gone.

The Spearman stood and began to fold up the covers, thinking aloud to himself about how everyone had woken up so early. Ralinn followed suit, and while she struggled with the rough brown cloth, Ketara did the other three.

"Do you do this for Chief Dances with Balrog all the time?" she asked.

"He's pretty busy, and since I don't have much to do for him—most of his stuff is tidied up, 'cos he never uses it…yeah, I help him keep the place tidy."

Ralinn tried not to giggle. "That's a maid's job, isn't it?" she inquired.

"Well…I don't have a home, so I've got to stay here, and since I'm here, I might as well make myself useful," was his sensible reply.

The huntress looked up at the blank stone ceiling and nodded. "No home…what happened to your fairy foster-mother?"

"I decided to go and get my first job. When I went back to check on her, she was gone. All the fairies were…it's that king's fault." He sighed, but there was not a trace of anger, no fury in his voice or gaze. Maybe he was the kind who could never be angry.

But if he had a chance to help end it all, would he take it…?

Fear. Hiding. He was the one.

Suddenly, Ralinn's eyes widened, and she came over to him, trying to calculate the chances that this was who the voice belonged to, that Ketara would be the fourth member of Orion's Belt…

_Afraid of what is true. What is true…his real parents? Who he really is? Hiding…under a carefree façade…_

"Ketara…do you want a chance to put it to an end?" Ralinn began as she always did with the other two members. "Do you want this pointless oppression to stop?"

Ketara looked up at her, blinking. "Wha—yeah, I would," he replied, confused. "Why the serious look?"

She took a pendant from her pocket, took his right hand, and pressed it into his palm, making his eyes widen even more. "I own a guild," she explained. "Someday, we're going to change everything…somehow. End the king's rule. It wasn't my idea; a voice told me…in a dream."

"In a dream?" Ketara looked on wonderingly, then looked down at the pendant in his palm, which would mark his membership in the guild, should he choose to put it on. He shrugged, then slipped it around his neck. Ralinn smiled.

"Welcome to Orion's Belt," she said warmly. The Spearman nodded and grinned, and Ralinn thought vaguely that his smiles were the most charming she had ever seen before.

"So…a rebellion group?" he mused, pacing about. "I wonder when we'll be even half ready to face those hundreds of guards out there…"

Suddenly, Ralinn wondered too. Would ten really be enough to face hundreds? If the "voice" had managed to coerce Hercule into forming the guild for free, then what did it know of what was in store for them?

She nodded in response. "I wonder too…but I'm sure it will be alright in the end. There'll be a way, and that's the way we'll take. And as for when we'll be ready…we've got six more members to find."

* * *

_zethis: exhaustion_

He had never expected anything like this. A test of strength, maybe, but definitely not—this.

He was exhausted, half-wasted with tiredness, and he now stood in hiding within a natural alcove of the rock wall, four Dark Marbles in his pocket. The sun was growing higher, and noon would break forth with all its force soon. The smell of animal sweat filled his nose, even here, away from the monsters.

_I'm never going to make it, _he thought as he panted deeply, lungs fighting for so much as a whiff of fresh, clean air.

"You _can _do it!" he exclaimed to himself. The creatures beyond his hiding place turned upon his shout and charged, all at once. He tried not to shout out in terror as the hammer swung forward in a reflex defending action.

_Careful! _He warned himself as he fought each monster down, one by one, glad that the narrow gap in the rock only allowed one monster in at a time, and restricted movement for both him and his foe.

As he battered the Lupin that stood before him, leaping to avoid the banana skins that flew at him, Zethis wondered for a few instants where the monkeys got all those bananas from, and how they could eat them so _cursedly _fast. But that was the least of his worries. There were banana peels all over the hole now, and he would start slipping on them soon.

The warrior exclaimed in triumph as two Lupins fell before him after taking a long battering from him. Both dropped Dark Marbles from their gaping mouths, and he bent to pick them up. Seven now. It had already been more than an hour. How long more would it take to gain thirty?

It would take four hours more. Every moment of the way, Zethis thought he would never survive, never pass the test. He refused to let himself fall. He would not, not after he had come this far, lived two years from home, travelled distances he had never been able to imagine before.

The late afternoon was passing. The warrior leaned on the rock, having come out of hiding hours ago. He was sweating profusely under the burning rays of the sun, tired beyond anything he could describe. He felt as if his feet were leaden, but he could still move by force of determination to get through this ordeal.

The monsters were lessening. When they had crowded and swarmed before his eyes earlier, only a few sparsely distributed creatures ran around below his ledge now. He only had three more Dark Marbles to find.

Zethis allowed himself to relax for a few moments. He smiled. He had done so well! Never had he thought he would get this far. He was proud of himself for not giving in to exhaustion and asking to forfeit the challenge.

_Dances with Balrog. _The warrior looked up the cliff face down which he had come, wondering if the chief had been waiting all along. _I can't keep him waiting any longer!_

Then he leapt down to stand among the last monsters, sudden new energy flooding his senses, energy born of the assurance that he had succeeded. The battle began, and ended minutes later.

"Dances with Balrog!" he called, scaling the rocks, ignoring the scrapes he got from the jagged edges of the beige rock. He had done it, at last. All thirty Dark Marbles, safely in his pocket.

The Job Master had been waiting for him all along. Dances with Balrog looked down from where he stood to see Zethis, who climbed all the faster. "I had the feeling you'd take this short to finish," he commented, much to the warrior's surprise.

"Short?" he repeated. "It took hours!"

"An hour less than others usually do. Except for…there are four of you who took so short. Thaemis, the first…she rose to fame, but she's—vanished. Then Shirion, and Ketara…and you too."

Hearing the two familiar names, he looked up at Dances with Balrog's face, surprised, and wondering. Ketara hadn't seemed like the kind with extraordinary strength or skill. But neither did he, and what Dances with Balrog had said was probably the truth…

It was too much to think of himself as anyone great. It seemed too far-fetched—impossible! He had never been anything more than a son, a _foster _son, and a boy with unreachable dreams. Why should that change because of something he had heard. He couldn't allow his hopes about himself to rise. He doubted he would ever be great.

But for now, he felt only joy and pride that he had passed the test. _My first test! _It truly felt wonderful to know that he had succeeded.

"So the time comes to choose your path," Dances with Balrog said in a tone he had never heard him speak in before, except during his first job advancement. "Which do you wish to choose? The path of a Fighter, the path of a Spearman, or the path of a Page?"

"I want to be a Page," Zethis said with conviction, suddenly sure, for the first time in his life, of something he was choosing. The chief smiled and nodded, and without warning, took the warrior's face in his hands, touching the brands he had marked in his skin two years ago.

"Then, by the Goddess' power, I name you…a Page."

Zethis couldn't describe the power that ran through him at that moment, just like the power when he had first become a warrior, that cold winter so many years ago. It was spring now, and he shivered just as much as he had that day, the day he had first gained a clue that he was fated to join Orion's Belt.

Now, he saw something else. He saw a great blackness, so huge and overbearing he knew it _existed_, not just ordinary darkness. Then out of it, a bright light appeared, turning into a spirit, a girl, who came to his side and made him feel safe all of a sudden, safe from the indescribable danger that he felt looming over them.

In a moment, all light returned, and Zethis felt as if he had been thrown backwards. He gasped and looked around, first registering the usual mountainsides, then Dances with Balrog standing before him.

He rubbed his head. "Strange vision…" he said, trying to recall it. "If that's going to happen in the future, then…I'm really scared."

"With strength like yours, your fate is bound to be tied with danger," Dances with Balrog told the bewildered boy. "It comes, for some reason. I had to face quite a lot of danger myself, when I was younger."

Zethis did wonder, for a moment, how old Dances with Balrog really was, and he thought again about the Job Master's past. He had had a life, like any ordinary person. What had he done then? What kinds of adventures had the respectable chief had as a youth?

"Come on, we have to get back," he suddenly called over to the new page. The Job Master was already departing, and Zethis quickly gave chase.

They entered the Warrior's Sanctuary to come face to face with Ketara.

"I was starting to wonder when you'd get back," he exclaimed, excitement running through his features for some reason. "Anyway, Ralinn asked if I could travel with her, and the rest of Orion's Belt."

Zethis glanced down at the pendant that now hung around the Spearman's neck. So he was the fourth member? He truly had not expected anything like this. But as for Dances with Balrog and his secretary…they would have to work it out.

"Well…" the chief thought for a moment. "It's time I let you fulfill your potential, really. I know that a lot awaits you, and I have no right to hold you back." Then he gestured to the desk at the far corner of the Warrior's Sanctuary, where the scrolls were tidily shelved in the rack. "Besides, you've done quite a good job with my belongings."

Ketara grinned brightly. "Does that mean you say yes?" he asked eagerly. Ralinn was secretly smiling at his enthusiasm at the thought of leaving.

"Yes, of course," Dances with Balrog answered. "When do you intend to go?"

The Spearman turned to Ralinn. "Anytime you like," she replied. "Though we intend to leave sometime soon; today, perhaps."

"Alright, today then!"

Zethis wondered if Ketara had been deprived of adventure so badly that he really wanted to leave so much now. He definitely didn't seem suited to being a secretary, with that outgoing personality of his.

So they had come with only the hope to obtain Zethis' second job, and they left with one more member. Things were beginning to get more interesting, now that there were four of them.

Ketara was done with his packing early the next morning—it had been too late the day before to continue travelling.

"We agreed to meet Raydan in Kerning in three months' time," Ralinn told Ketara after explaining that her brother was in Henesys for his second job advancement.

"I can't wait to meet him," the Spearman replied sincerely. _He'd love to meet you too, _Zethis thought to himself.

The road was clear that day, free of policemen and patrollers, and they did not have to make their movements quick, as they usually did. The journey down the western side of Perion would take them through familiar territory; Zethis had spent more than a year of his life in that region. But, as they found out, Ketara had only travelled between Perion and Ellinia, as well as Perion and the Dungeon.

"I never thought about the world beyond those areas," he admitted as they trekked down the hidden mountain pathways. "I've only ever lived in Ellinia, Perion and the Dungeon…"

"Dungeon?" Ralinn questioned. "I've only heard stories about it. To think you actually survived there…"

"For a year," Ketara answered with a hint of pride. "I ate raw meat _everyday._" He stuck out his tongue and made choking noises. "And there wasn't even clean water. River water tastes all…plant-y…"

Zethis was laughing. Suddenly, he realised that he hadn't laughed for at least four days already. _I think things are really going to get more interesting now, _he thought to himself.

"Well, three more months, and we'll be at my home," Ralinn said, looking ahead again. "Raydan will be there in three months too; we promised to meet then. I wonder how he's doing now…"

* * *

_raydan: a chance meeting_

Alone in the strangely empty hunting ground, Raydan glanced about. This area, _this _area, especially, had always been crowded with people trying to train in parties. Today, it was empty.

As the newly-made Crossbowman came down the pathway, he was shocked to find himself facing an empty field of grass. Only snails and mushrooms brooded in the corners of the field, near haystacks and sheds that spanned all the way to the horizon.

_Where's everyone? I thought—_

He didn't have to wait long to get his answer.

A moment later, hands came down on his arms, and there were shouts of commands all around him.

"Unauthorised trespasser," was one shout Raydan heard, as they held his arms firmly against his struggling. He was still stunned. "Get the manacles."

He didn't even have a chance to fight back, while two metal objects were chained around his wrists, and his arms allowed to drop. He gasped with their weight.

"We have made it clear," one of the men, dressed in policeman garb, announced as he paced around to face Raydan. "None are to enter the Henesys Hunting Ground, with effect from…yesterday. It is a potential breeding ground for chaos. Now march."

As the team of four policemen forced him down the path, he gritted his teeth in frustration, and cursed the absurdity of the monarch. Why couldn't Caleix give it a rest? It was no crime to be able to train. Perhaps he feared rebellion, but simply by doing such things to the people of his kingdom, he was breeding anger and hate in them.

_This is why Linn made the guild, _he thought defiantly, feeling the pendant that still hung from his neck. _Somehow, it'll change, no matter how long it takes._

But right now, he was in a dire situation. Too suddenly, Raydan realised how hard it would be to get out of this fix. Why had he not put up a fight? He felt a little stupid now. But there was no point in following that train of thought, because it would get him nowhere.

"Where are you taking me?"

One of the four snarled a reply. "Henesys Square. Where you hang."

_Hang? _Raydan swallowed nervously. He steeled himself and tried to pull away from the guards with a sudden twist of his arms. They had not been ready for a sudden attempt to escape, and one's grip on his arm slipped, but the rest managed to keep him in their grasp.

"Great strategy, boy," one said smugly. They resumed their steady walk towards the center of the town, and Raydan felt the adrenalin rise suddenly in his blood. He was truly trapped now, and for no rhyme or reason. This was so stupid.

They had already made it halfway down the main road to the wide plaza that was known as Henesys Square. Raydan, throughout the trip, had come to terms with the notion that he was probably going to die now, and after initial denial, he had come to realise that, suddenly, he was destined down the path of death. He accepted that now, and somehow didn't feel afraid.

_Let me be another soul to avenge, when Linn defeats the king!_

_Linn…_

The moment he had that thought, his unconscious prayers seemed to be answered. It all happened so suddenly. They had been passing by a boulevard with trees on either side, and _they_ had leapt out of hiding—a dozen men, women and youths of all jobs, weapons brandished. Raydan's thoughtful frown had instantly turned to a stunned smile as they had come upon the four policemen and turned the boulevard into a battlefield.

First, two had come to his side, and his chains were suddenly being ground down with blades, belonging to two whose faces he could not see, standing behind him.

Then the attack. The flames of throwing stars, bolts of singing thunder and shining arrows as they soared and scattered through the air like deadly wasps, upon the policemen, threw the street into total chaos. There was a maelstrom of shouts and yells of command, cries of injury, all coming from the four king's servants.

"You must be glad we saved you," a gruff male voice said from behind Raydan as the chains suddenly fell away. The Crossbowman turned his head back instantly to find himself facing a tall, heavily built Crusader with a sword blade held lazily in his left hand. "Well. This—" he gestured to the battle that was rising around them, "—is Nightfall for you. Our guild. I'm the leader."

Raydan followed the man's gesture with his gaze. "Nightfall…hm," he said. "Are you against the king as well?"

"Yes, and proud to be," the man told Raydan. "The name's Pelinor."

"Raydan," the youth replied, less afraid of him now.

"So," Pelinor the crusader said as the battle sounds were dying down around them. "How did you get into that fix?"

Raydan explained how he had been informed of the no-trespassing-in-Henesys-Hunting-Ground rule only after he had been captured. "That stupid king," he ended, slightly angered again. "I don't see _what _he's doing with Victoria Island. He's not gaining anything by doing all this."

Pelinor laughed. "Exactly, my boy," he said in a hearty voice. "That's why we gathered up. An underground society of rebels, now numbering about fifty. Would you like to join us as well? Provided you're travelling on your own, that is."

Raydan shook his head with a smile. "I'm already in another guild," he replied, showing the guild leader his pendant from Orion's Belt. "My sister's the leader."

"In another guild, hm? Alright, but you are welcome to join if ever you change your mind."

Two men, a male youth and a woman came forward to their guild leader, each with an unconscious guard captive. "Sir, what do we do with them now?" a man questioned respectfully, gaze held low.

"Don't kill them," he answered. "Leave them here. The beating up was quite enough for them." Pelinor was smiling to himself, more with relief, Raydan thought, than sadism. He then turned back to the hunter. "D'you have a place to stay while you're still here?"

Raydan shook his head. "I actually intended to leave today, but…well, I'd like to meet more of your guild. So…alright."

Minutes later, after all thirteen members of Nightfall present at the attack had been gathered up, they were introduced to him. "This here is Raydan," Pelinor explained to the group. None of them seemed too hostile, but they weren't weak in stature either. Many looked to be at about their third jobs.

"Thanks for saving me," he exclaimed, truly grateful. They seemed more friendly to him all of a sudden, the few closest to him smiling and telling him that they didn't mind doing it.

"We all hate the king and his policemen," a woman in the front row said to him, the rest nodding in fervent agreement.

Pelinor clapped for order as the chatter from the thirteen rose. "Careful, if we're too loud, the guard station might send more policemen against us, and maybe even some of those guards…"

Their journey then began in relative silence, the entire group, led by Pelinor, taking the main road through the town for a few minutes. All around Raydan seemed to know the way, following confidently after the guild leader and himself, at the front of the group.

About ten minutes of travelling through moderately populated streets, they suddenly took a turning towards the heavily forested surroundings of Henesys' northeast side, Raydan glancing about behind them all the way, just to see if anyone had noticed them going off the road. To his bewilderment, he realised that all were acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Pelinor laughed. "They know of our existence," he replied to Raydan's expression of surprise. "They all support us. After all, who in Henesys would actually want to support the _king_?"

Raydan nodded in grim agreement. He turned back to see where they were now, as shadows came to cover their path.

The trek through the forest didn't take very long. After stepping over tree roots and through fallen leaves, they came to a point where the tree trunks were bent and gnarled beyond recognition, their branches and bark wrapped around a something distinctly cubical in shape. Through the tangle of thick branches, Raydan could pick out a few tiny areas where the rock showed through in the dim light that shone through the overlapping leaves above them. There were patterned engravings on its surface, shadows of leaves shifting over them like dark hands.

"Great hideout, isn't it," Pelinor commented, folding his arms. "According to some legend, it was built by the Sharenians. It's made a really good hiding place for us."

Raydan took another glance at the shape of the building, edges marred by the crumbled rock and creeping plants, while the rest walked around its uneven circumference, towards what must be the entrance. The stone ruin within the branches certainly looked old, like something that had sprung out of a mythical story. Wondering what it hid within its stony boundaries, he followed the rest.

The entrance was a low hole in the side of the wall, the roots that had once covered it now sliced off, leaving only stumps of wood that ended at the hole's rim. The Crossbowman waited for everyone to go in first, before he bent down and entered himself.

Within, he was suddenly greeted by a wide, empty room lit brightly, not by torchlight as he had expected, but by a warm circle of light on the ceiling—similar to sunlight in colour and strength. In front of him, there were four round hardwood tables, and many seated around each, talking, eating or playing card games. Further down, there were tables, ovens and stoves leaned against the cracked, slanted walls of the room, as well as a fridge in one corner.

Raydan looked up at the ceiling again, in amazement. It was so much to fit into this stone monument, which had seemed so small outside. The ceiling above was cracked beyond repair, and Raydan wondered if it would cave in some day, without warning. But recalling the roots and branches that grew around it, which now poked their untidy ends through the cracks, he realized that those must be what held up the ruin's structure now.

"Hello, everyone," Pelinor suddenly silenced the crowd of Nightfall members with his announcement. "We just broke up another band of policemen." This was met by smiles and a few cheers. "And guess what, we saved someone from execution this time! He'll be staying here for a night, before he heads off to Kerning City. A rebel as well, he is."

Raydan suddenly felt a little self-conscious as everyone turned to look at him. Some shouted greetings to him.

While Raydan walked into the crowd at the tables to try and ask for some food, he suddenly found himself standing in front of a youth of almost twenty, wearing a short brown jacket and blue knee-length pants. His figure was definitely not that of a magician or a thief; Raydan figured that he was a warrior of some kind.

"Hello, boy," he greeted the Crossbowman with a smile. "What's your name? It seems Pelinor forgot to tell us that."

"Raydan, level thirty Crossbowman," he replied promptly. "And how about you?"

"I'm Hyrien, level one hundred and twelve White Knight," the youth replied with a small nod. "I wish they'd open the service of the Ellinia Station to the citizens again…I'll never get my fourth job at this rate."

Raydan's mouth hung open. _L-level one hundred and…twelve?_ "You're quite…strong," he commented.

Hyrien shook his head humbly. "Not really," he said. "Oh yeah, by the way, I was saved by Nightfall as well. They were going to execute me for my high level. Then this lot got a hold of the patrol and completely destroyed it before they could get me to the square." He breathed out hard. "You should see that place. There's blood all over the rocks. And it used to be a place for huge festivals in my childhood…"

"You mean…there was a time when the king wasn't like this?"

Hyrien laughed softly. "Of course," he replied. "That was when I was around eight. I'm sure you were alive at that time too."

Raydan cocked his head. "I don't remember," he answered to that.

"Well, anyway, he wasn't always a tyrant," the knight went on. "We don't know what caused the sudden change in him. It's really—strange. But now he's changed his ways, his old ways are all but forgotten. Everyone thinks of him as evil now."

"If only he'd change back to what he was before," Raydan said with a little sigh. "If he used to be kind, why can't he be again?"

Hyrien nodded thoughtfully at his words. "So, you're staying here for a night? I'm sure there're some extra rooms downstairs."

_Downstairs?_ "There's more?" Raydan gasped, glancing about for a staircase.

"It's not so easy to find _downstairs,"_ Hyrien answered, seeing his reaction. "And it's really spacious."

It took an hour for Raydan to get himself a room. The moment he had entered the room, he had been overcome by awe. It _was _huge, even larger than the room upstairs. It was a huge round room lit by the sunlight-lamps, with at least twenty doors on the white wall around its circumference. The walls were definitely newer than the ones that the building was made of, whiter than the former, and perfect in all parts.

Later on, some of the guild members had shown him the way to a secret hunting place they shared, near the path to the Dungeon, where no one, not even the guards, dared to go. There were monsters of many levels to train on, a wide enough range to provide good training for most. Hyrien, who turned out to be the highest levelled person in Nightfall, had come along as well, but the monsters there did not prove to be of much use to his training. He sat aside in the shade of the trees by the narrow, forested valley, while he watched the rest train.

Raydan finished off another blue mushroom with two arrows strung at the same time and a flare of orange. He still remembered, too clearly, the day when he had been close to death in the outskirts of Kerning City, and how he had been saved at the last moment by a girl whom he later found out to be Ralinn.

Now, it simply amazed him to know that he had not recognised his sister when he had first seen her. It wasn't surprising—she had grown a lot taller since she had been eight, but she had been so close—he had been so sure that he would have recognised her when he had finally met her again.

Panting slightly, Raydan walked aside to take a break. "Any water?" he asked, turning to Hyrien, who held up a bag of water made of an animal's stomach. These waterskins had always made him feel queasy, but he was too thirsty to think anything of it now.

"I wondered," the Crossbowman said, sitting down on the grass. "How did you come to be so high-levelled?"

Hyrien shook his head slightly. "I don't know," he replied. "It's strange...I simply worked myself to death trying to get stronger...but I think it's more of a way for me to vent my frustration at those guards, the police, the king..."

"Do you really hate those people so much?" Raydan asked, somewhat surprised that the seemingly good-natured White Knight would feel so strongly against the guards, to the point that he had managed to reach such a high level from "venting".

Again, he shook his head, not a Raydan, but at one of his own thoughts. "They did bad things to my family," he explained. "They made my parents into slaves, and my parents told me to run away. So...I'm alive. But they...aren't—I think. I haven't seen them for more than a decade. Since I was six."

Raydan nodded in understanding. He did know, though he hadn't been left all alone. "My sister...well...same thing," the Crossbowman answered. "She went away when I was four, and didn't come back until last year."

Hyrien turned to him. "How old are you now?"

"Thirteen," he replied with a smile.

"Eight years..."

Raydan returned to the hunting ground soon after those few minutes of recollection. It was such a pity that he would be leaving this interesting, fun lot in a day's time. _But well, _he thought to himself, _the world's a small place. I think our paths will cross one day—Orion's Belt and Nightfall. Since we're both headed for a common goal._

The bed that he was provided with was decently soft, though he could tell from how creaky it was that it wasn't very expensive. Though it was fast approaching summer, the interior of the room as cool enough for comfort, and Raydan did wonder how it was done.

Finally, the next day dawned, the day he would begin his return journey to Kerning City. He had three months—he had arranged that with Ralinn. The journey back would take all of three months, and he badly wanted to see his sister again.

_I should be back by late summer, _he reasoned as he re-packed his worn haversack, then picked his bow up off the tabletop. He then made his way out of the room, to find a lot of his newly-made friends from Nightfall standing around his door.

"Have a nice journey!" Yunira, a Spearman, greeted him cheerily. "Remember not to go through the Henesys Hunting Ground again!" Raydan nodded to that.

At the door, he found it extremely hard to make it many steps without turning to wave to the guild members again. He had thanked them for their hospitality, but he kept feeling that he hadn't thanked them enough. Pelinor didn't seem to mind, though, and as he waved them goodbye one more time, the guild leader gave him that familiar grin again.

Raydan didn't have to try too hard to avoid the policemen who patrolled the road. He kept within the forest, staying under its cover until he reached the high wall that circled the entire city, changing his course then.

The secret entrance, dug deep into the ground, came into view once more. Raydan slipped into the dirt hole, bending down to get into the horizontal tunnel that led on from the bottom. Once inside, he had to squat and walk for a few more yards, before the roof rose again, and he could proceed easily from then on.

The short journey through the hidden tunnel took about five minutes or so. Later, dirt-covered and tired, he emerged from the other end to find himself on the other side of Henesys' unrelenting walls.

From here on, the journey would not be hard. Raydan took to the sand road instantly, walking at quite a leisurely pace, passing by the few houses on Henesys' outskirts, which had not yet been displaced by the king's orders.

Nothing could down Raydan's optimistic outlook that day, though. He focused on his destination and tried not to wonder whether Orion's Bolt, whether _anyone _would ever, possibly, put an end to the turmoil they were undergoing now at the hands of King Caleix.

* * *

_akera: thoughts of the past_

Akera looked up at the late summer sun that pierced through the leaves, up above her head. The heat was already dying down, and she had almost arrived at her destination. Here, midway to the top of the greatest tree in Ellinia, she wondered to herself.

Not many had managed this before. Reach the level of their third job at fourteen? She had heard stories about another person who had done so—Thaemis, a famed Hero who had suddenly gone missing about ten years ago. Then, the country had not been in such chaos and oppression, and she had grown famous for achieving what she had.

But now, in the midst of the worst situation possible, she would gain no fame for doing what so few had done before—in fact, her life depended on not being found out.

Akera was back in the region of her horrors, where she had worked for so many years before finally breaking the psychological barrier of fear, and escaping with Shirion.

She still remembered, of course—how could she not? He had seemed to need her help. But in actuality, it was his courage in bringing up the suggestion of escape, in not fearing the possibility, that had helped her to come to terms with her desire to leave. She had followed it. She had made it.

Now, she would not let that effort go to waste. In order to stay free, she had to keep her journey as inconspicuous as possible, and no one must know of the power she had gained in those two years, or how she was at least a year faster than everyone else in terms of development of power.

Akera arrived at Grendel's library with no trouble. The way there had stuck fast in her memory, since her very first job advancement, the images strengthened by her second visit there, all in secret. Now, she would be visiting in secret for the third time, and the place was too familiar to her now—the strong, dark bark, the shade of the leaves of that magical tree, even the pattern that the branches made, now slightly different from what it had been the last time.

"Grendel!" she shouted, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. Somehow, everything irritated her, not just waiting for a door to open.

The hardwood door swung open by magic, at last. Akera raced in, glancing up automatically to see the magician Job Master. Grendel floated in the air, eyes apparently closed, but the Fire Poison Wizard knew all too well that he was watching her every move.

"You have returned, Akera," he said in the voice of an old man, one with immense power. "Here for you third job, perhaps?"

Akera nodded, wishing he would stop talking to her from so high up. It annoyed her to feel inferior, and his altitude did just that.

Grendel nodded. "Well, then, you have achieved something extraordinary, it seems," he answered with some pride, some expectance. "Of course you would have. You have always been this gifted. I was only waiting for this day to come. I have seen—so many in my life, and so many more I have to see, because I have been made immortal…but you are, surely, the greatest of all that have come to me before. Equal to Lanoré, I would say."

"Lanoré? Isn't she…the Silver Fang of El Nath," the nickname of the famed Ice Lightning Mage came to mind instantly. Lanoré had been a name her parents had spoken of often, a teenager from El Nath who had reached her third job at fourteen as well, and had fought all the while to keep her people free. Now, Akera could actually call herself Lanoré's equal.

"Are you ready yet?" Akera looked up once more and saw that Grendel was floating slowly towards her. She was sure that she was ready. She nodded.

"Come on then."

Grendel led her out the door, and she followed, rare, sudden, refreshing excitement instantly infusing her spirit the moment she entered the brightness of the morning outside.

It was time to take another step. She had waited six years—she couldn't wait any longer.

* * *

orion's belt: introductions

As Raydan came down the last turning into his home's street, he felt his heartbeat quicken. It was a familiar feeling—he was always excited when he was returning home after a long journey. He knew that he would be seeing Ralinn and Zethis again, after more than half a year—his sister, and the person whom he dared to call his best friend now.

But there was something he hadn't expected, a surprise to come.

"Linn! You home yet?" the Crossbowman yelled as he banged the door excitedly, smiling with excitement.

His heart leapt when he heard the annoyed reply of "Coming!" from inside the house. The door swung open, and he found Ralinn standing at the door, one hand on the handle, the other holding the doorframe. A grin instantly came to the huntress' face, and she ruffled his hair.

"Three days late," she sighed, shaking her head, still smiling. Raydan ignored the fact and took off his shoes—more of boots, actually. Then, he came into the house, glancing about for Zethis, whom he found at the table, talking to someone he didn't know—

"Oh, meet the fourth member of Orion's Belt," Ralinn quickly said, coming over to the dining table.

"You're Ralinn's brother?" the youth replied, smile brightening. "I'm Ketara, level forty-four Spearman. You must be Raydan?"

Raydan's first reaction was to stifle laughter. "That sounds like a girl's name," he said. It did sound rude, he suddenly realised, but Ketara didn't seem to mind.

"I get that a lot," he answered. The Spearman wasn't half bad-looking, Raydan realised—especially when he was smiling. "I've gotten used to it."

"Nice to meet you, and welcome to Orion's Belt," Raydan replied quickly, hoping that he hadn't made too bad a first impression on Ketara. "I'm Raydan, yup. Level thirty-six Crossbowman. So, Linn, how'd you find him?"

"We went to Perion for Zethis' second job, and this guy was Dances with Balrog's secretary, then I matched his story and the song I dreamt of… It was quite a surprise, actually."

Zethis nodded as he glanced up from his storybook for the first time since Raydan had returned. "Hello, Raydan," he said in his usual voice, slightly timid, as always. Raydan nodded to acknowledge his greeting and went to sit next to him at the table.

"Being in this guild is really…cool," Ketara commented as he ate another chip from the packet in his hand. "Us all being chosen by dreams, and all that…"

"But there's a goal we have to achieve," Ralinn replied, frowning. "It's not going to be easy. I mean—overthrow the king? I have no idea how I'll do that, or even why the voice thinks I can do it, but there must be some reason that it thinks I can, or I wouldn't be the one chosen for this. Whatever it is…you're going to be here for a long time."

"Which I really don't mind."

Raydan did like Ketara's spirit and personality, he decided. "Linn, when are we going to move on?" Raydan questioned.

She shrugged. "The members will present themselves to us. It doesn't matter which way we go; our choice, in the end, will lead us to them." She glanced about thoughtfully. "One member a year…at this rate, we're going to take till we're all twenty to finish doing this! But I'm sure it's worth the wait."

"Hey," Ketara suddenly piped up. "I know somewhere we can go, if you don't mind trying something new." Everyone turned to him in interest. He ate another potato chip.

"Oh yeah, by the way," Ralinn answered, before the Spearman went on any further. "We're almost out of chips."

* * *

_telida: change_

Once more, Turino had beaten Telida to the prize, the giant slime things that leapt about in the forest. And he always did, nowadays—why was he suddenly so bent on being better than her?

Telida heard a few leaves flutter through the cold winter air and land on the ground around her. She turned upwards, and moments later, a throwing star had sprung from her palm, killing the snake above, which now fell with a rustle across her feet.

Two years ago, she recalled, he had been so protective of her. It had annoyed her, and she had said so, making her point clear by attacking him. No, it had not seemed to offend him, but after that, he had suddenly turned into an enemy. Treated _her _like an enemy.

Telida twisted the snake's body in anger, and felt its skin tear beneath her grip.

Turino was simply unbearable now. Why was it that he was always faster than her, better at killing, simply better at _everything? _

Oh, she knew. She was a _girl. _Why were girls always worse? _Why?_

Again, she recalled. She recalled the days when both her parents had been alive. Her father had been cruel to her mother, spared no mercy, made her his servant to her last day, just because he was stronger—and Turino would become like that as well, some day. Telida hated it. Why should all males be stronger? She hated all of _them._

Turning away from the place where her brother was training, Telida walked away, through the familiar forest, every trunk and root drawn perfectly in her memory. She would have to work harder from now on. She didn't know when or why Turino had changed so much, but she would too. Gone was her old, generally caring self. She would become ruthless.

* * *

_clynine: warmth in cold_

The sun scarcely pierced through the gaps in the icy clouds as Clynine made her way up the road into her new home. They had been in Mu Lung, her home, three quarters of a year ago. Now, they were in Lanoré's home, El Nath. If she had thought that winter in Ludibrium was cold, then this was _freezing, _literally too. All around her, the icicles that hung from the roofs of the cabins of El Nath were longer than her arm.

"And…here we are," the Ice Lightning Archmage said, stopping before an ordinary-looking cabin at the edge of the dense forest near the town. Its dark brown wood stood out of the whiteness in a painting of starkness and contrast, white snow collecting heavily on the windowsills and on the slanted roof. It looked like any other house on the street.

Lanoré extracted the key from her pocket and turned it in the lock, Clynine inching up to look over her mistress' shoulder, excited to see how this legendary mage's house would look like inside.

As the door opened, the twelve-year-old was surprised to see that, like the outside, it was perfectly ordinary. As she walked onto the parquet floor inside, she had expected to feel an overwhelming presence of power, but there was none. Clynine ran over to the sofa in the sitting room and fell back on the plush beige cushions. This place was simply marvelous, no matter how ordinary.

"So you're enjoying yourself already," her mistress suddenly said. Clynine instantly leapt off the sofa, blushing, ashamed at her rude actions. Lanoré smiled and shook her head. "No, it's perfectly fine. This is your home now, as long as you're in my service." Still, she didn't feel like going back to lounge in the sofa while the Archmage unpacked both their bags.

_I'm _her _assistant, for goodness' sake! I'm supposed to be unpacking for her!_

She ran instantly to the dining table upon that thought. Lanoré looked surprised, but her presence seemed welcome. She began to take all the unused clothes from her bag, realizing that she had over-packed, seriously over-packed. But how would she have known, being from a rich family?

It was refreshing to be out of the mansion and traveling with someone she had just met half a year ago. Something new, something that she knew would get her somewhere. She thought of her parents' farewell, and felt a twinge of concern for their safety. But then, she assured herself that they would be fine, believing that fate would let them have the best way. Her life looked bright, as of this moment.

Clynine took a glance out the window and watched the spiraling, spinning paths of the snowflakes. The world seemed to welcome her in every way, to every next moment, and she smiled to the grey clouds, ominous as they looked, before carrying on with her job.

* * *

_faith_

Ralinn stood in the snow of the starlit night and sighed, scarf fluttering in the wind, about her neck. She wondered about everything. There were six more to find—six more, and a prophecy to fulfill. _Fulfill? _Maybe it was just a conjecture by the gods. Maybe it was just an experiment, an attempt to get rid of the darkness of their homeland.

But it was so full of human emotion, human fragility, this experiment—she thought of her companions: shy Zethis, outgoing Ketara, her good-natured brother Raydan…and whoever else she was dragging into this dangerous task. If it was an experiment that might not work, it was a cruel one.

Faith. The only thing she could do was take faith.

Faith, Telida knew, would keep her alive through the internal turmoil that she was going through. She had to have faith that, someday, someone would come to take her out of this darkness forever.

The new Fire Poison Mage gazed down from the top branches and smiled, an expression she was so unused to. She would have to believe in her life, be certain that she had the capability to reach her true potential.

He would have to have faith in his strength, in his will to stay free. Shirion knew that his future was not his choice to make. But faith would guide him. Guide everyone.

_Faith. Belief. _

A new cycle of the twelve years was about to begin. The Year of the Rat was dawning.

* * *

I think some of the themes are getting a bit repetitive. Time for a little change in the next chapter...


	4. Year of the Rat

Yay! I was waiting for Chief to review, actually, but since he said that I could post, I did.

I really hope you people are liking this story. Because this chapter might wear your patience thin. (If you still remember who is who in my story,) this chapter focuses a lot on Clynine and Lanoré. Read and review! No silent readers please!

* * *

Chapter 4: Year of the Rat

_ralinn: in turn_

Ralinn had never thought about the moment when she would be eligible for her third job. She had simply spent every year training whenever she could, accompanying Raydan and Zethis to a multitude of places.

But at that moment when she struck down a drake, and the blazing blue light had grown to surround her, she suddenly realised what she had been forgetting so long, a goal of hers that had never actually been a goal.

She could become a ranger, at last. After so many years, after her narrow escape from the castle. Ralinn thought, again, about the day she had managed to escape the iron grasp of the king's guards, the grasp that had held her tightly for years on end.

It had been a stroke of genius, of desperation, on her part. After three years of working at the castle, a slave, she had suddenly decided that she had had enough.

Then, all the routes of escape, all the paths that might lead her out of the castle, which she had been ignoring for the last three years, became apparent to her. It would be so easy…

The garbage carts were never inspected as they came into and left the castle. After all, the king must have thought, who would try to escape under tons of rubbish?

She would. Not like all those other servants, submitted to service even before they had been born, spiritless, ambitionless—she wasn't like them. She wanted freedom.

So Ralinn had done just that. The garbage trucks trundled into and out of the castle grounds, horse-drawn, towards the stinking garbage dumps on the grounds to collect rubbish and back out through the heavily guarded gates, without so much as a glance from the guards.

She had thrown herself into one of the garbage dumps, from the branch of a tree some way up the road through the keep. The smell had not been very pleasing, to say the least, but it was a small price to pay for the freedom she had been waiting for for so long.

From there, it was simply digging her way out of the piles of rubbish—fruit peels, animal bones, used papers and other useless bits and pieces that had been dumped into the bins of the castle.

She was free. She had come out dirty, worn out, covered in the stench of the king's garbage, but she had finally earned her safety, her escape from the castle, a breath of the real world that had been taken away from her for three years.

It was time to start her life anew, she had told herself. It was her chance to finally have control of her life.

And now, Ralinn realized, she had come farther than she had ever actually wanted or needed. Ready for her third job already? She had never noticed herself growing any stronger or more experienced.

"Sis, what're you staring at?" Raydan called out, snapping her out of her moment of reminiscence.

"I'm already level seventy," she replied. "I just counted my level-ups..."

"Good then! Let's go back to Henesys, then we might meet Nightfall, and I can introduce them to you," her brother exclaimed enthusiastically. He had told her and the rest about the guild he had met that day after his job advancement, and explained how they had saved him from a senseless death sentence.

It did feel strange, and a little unnerving to know that there was another guild with the same aim as hers—they were competition to their goal, she realised. But Nightfall was so much larger than their measly group of four, even more than the final ten that was planned for Orion's Belt.

She chose to ignore those notions. At least she knew that they were not alone in their quest. There would be others to help them, and they would do the job, should Orion's Belt fail.

Zethis, who had been training with the wild boars in another part of the same mountain, soon came round to meet the three, who stood resting in the shadow of the mountainside, drinking from their waterskins and eating a few of the snacks they had brought along.

Ralinn looked about at the four members of Orion's Belt. Her brother, Raydan, the first to join, was now a Crossbowman, at level thirty-five. He was more talkative than the average person, and prone to getting angry with authority.

Zethis, the second to join, stood beside him, gulping water from his own waterskin in extreme thirst. Though younger than Raydan, he was about the same level, and the Page was quickly overtaking Ralinn's brother in levels. Ralinn had long noticed that he was stronger than others his age, despite his outward appearance of weakness. That shy boy who never talked much to anyone except Raydan had been quite a welcome addition to the guild, being less talkative and complaining than either of the other two, and a lot more thoughtful in his manner and speech.

Ketara, in the best descriptors, was the opposite of Zethis. He jumped at every chance to befriend others, and along with his good looks and natural charm, he had managed to get them out of a whole lot of situations, especially when buying food or other commodities. He was a useful member to the guild, often managing to take the boredom out of what would have been dreary journeys.

He, like Zethis, was stronger than normal, and it was obvious—he was the same age as Raydan, but almost fifteen levels higher. No, he did not practice dark arts, she knew, and neither did Zethis. They were naturally gifted. Somehow, that thought made her feel both secure and honoured.

Now, they were already beginning their journey southeast towards Kerning City, their home, where they would probably rest before continuing down to Henesys. Ralinn felt her heartbeat quicken as she prospected her visit to Athena Pierce again. The Job Master was close enough to be called a friend, and they had not met for many years already.

"So we're really going to the Dungeon?" Ketara persisted on his request. Ralinn nodded absently as they trudged through the stones of Perion, towards their destination, which was at least two months' walk away.

"I think it'll be fine," the guild leader replied. "Since you survived there, I don't think it should be that hard to stay alive."

"It was fun, really! I had no trouble staying alive, except that everything there tasted disgusting. But there were two people there who helped me find my way around..." His eyebrows creased as he tried to recall their names. "Telida and Turino! I hope we meet them. They were...quite nice."

Ralinn nodded, wondering how anyone could be living in the Dungeon.

"That'd be nice," Raydan answered. "What kind of people are they?"

"I don't know how to describe them…cool? They've both got good looks, as far as I could see in the darkness. They've lived in the Dungeon for a long time; knew the way around perfectly. There were huge slimes around the forest as well."

Zethis looked up. "King Slimes?" he exclaimed. "They're in the wild as well?"

Ketara turned back and asked what King Slimes were. In moments, they were discussing the Kerning Party Quest. Ralinn only listened, never having attempted any party quests before, only hearing of them from her brother and from others that she had met during her travels.

Maybe she would start to see more, with the guild around, and her job of finding the remaining members of Orion's Belt giving her necessity to travel further. Maybe, she might even get to see what a party quest was like for herself. So much she hadn't seen yet, she realised. It would really teach her a lot if she were to travel more, and going to the Dungeon would be a good start.

* * *

_clynine: crossing the sky_

Clynine had only gone to Victoria Island once—when she had gone for her first job. She had only gone to Ellinia, crossed the branches to Grendel's place and come back then, no further—but now, she would be going further. Now that Lanoré was her guardian and not her parents, they would be travelling a little around the Ellinian Forest. She could not wait to see more of Victoria Island, a place that had always lain on the other side of the sky-ocean.

The ride began five minutes after Lanoré and Clynine had seated themselves in the dimly-lit room below the deck of the tiny vessel.

Earlier, they had had to make their way down to the secret shifting jetty on the coast of El Nath—a jetty made of ice that was melted in one place and refrozen in another every week, its location only known by those who ordered tickets from the organisation's members, who had the most ordinary occupations around.

This time, the ice jetty had been at the coast about two miles into the icy wastes of the southern side of El Nath, having found out the location from the assistant to the armour seller. They had travelled long, only the excitement of journeying to Victoria Island keeping Clynine warm in the close-to-blizzard fierceness of the winds.

Finally they had made it there. The ship rocked in the waters, but it would make it to the other coast safely, like it had managed to for nine years. Though it bobbed in the water, it, like Clynine had heard from many, would soar into the air when it departed. She could not help but feel great anticipation for the moment when that would happen.

Around the bay, Clynine could see the shadows of creatures stirring up small eddies under the shimmering, icy water.

Whales, she knew. The native creatures had always swum down there, below the surface, sometimes tossing water playfully into the air, watching through the shaky surface of the ocean as the sky moved over them.

Sometimes, she saw them spray seawater into the air as she stood on the coast, and occasionally, they would even leap through the air in a human's presence, the large, usually lazy creatures showing a rare display of energy. She had heard that the great majestic creatures had a deep sense of emotion, and often saved people who fell into the ocean.

They would leave the whales soon, Clynine knew. So they had entered, and now waited for the movement of the ship's body to begin.

The seats were made of badly-cut wood—but what could they expect of a ship that had been made in secrecy, and operating in secrecy for years?

She leaned back, trying to quell the deep anxiousness she now felt at the thought of riding on this secret service. Lanoré had already warned her of the dangerous possibilities of the ride.

The king knew that this service existed, but his policemen had never managed to find it. As a result, a security system had been put in place across the sky—sometimes, the policemen would be standing guard and waiting for ships to arrive. However, when night fell, they would go back to rest, for it was believed that it was impossible to navigate in the dark. That was when they would fly.

But there had been one other time when the ship had been caught in mid-journey at night. That had led to the death of the previous captain, and the vice-captain had only found out about the disaster through a communication crystal when one of the survivors transmitted the message after making it, just barely, to Victoria Island.

But what were the chances that they would be found out? It had only happened once. Why this time? It was always good to anticipate the worst, Lanoré had told her before the trip. But she didn't really fear much. Besides, it was considerably safer than travelling over water, where an infamous band of pirates was rumoured to make prey of all.

_But that is the reason why the king believes that everyone will cross through the sky. If a safe route could be established over water…_

The ship shook slightly in its regular rocking course. Moments later, it gave a lurch, another, and then it gave a third and didn't fall back down. It was flying. Clynine felt as if her stomach had flipped with excitement. She glanced out the window and saw the clouds slipping past within the uneven window frame.

Fear continued to linger in her heart, nonetheless, and she could only will herself not to think of any of the frightening possibilities and watch the sky as it levelled out beyond the window and floated past.

Their journey upon the sky sped on into its late hours. Lanoré and Clynine were provided with a meagre dinner, but it was enough for them. The magician knew too well that they would not be able to obtain much food if they wanted to remain undetected.

Night fell. The stars spread across the sky like a dark sheet, and all around, the air was cast into darkness. Clynine was lying on her bench, attempting to fall asleep. A few other travellers were there with them; some were resting on the deck to enjoy the starlight. There were about five others with them.

She had been ready to fall asleep with the calm of the journey, sure that by the time she had awoken, they would have arrived at their destination.

Then there was an explosion, and moments later, a colossal crack of wood all around them, shaking her eardrums. Clynine sat up, all attempts at resting now rendered useless. She glanced about, heart suddenly wild with fear, all her earlier, forgotten fears of the voyage now returning with force. What had just happened? It had been loud.

The ship began to tilt to the left. It swung down wildly, suddenly, and Clynine grabbed onto the wood, screaming. The rest were awake now, struggling to hold on to the walls and benches, a few yelling in terror.

Lanoré soon raced down into the cabin. "We've been spotted!"

"H—How," she gasped out, running to her mistress and holding onto the arm she reached out to her.

"They shot us with cannon," Lanoré replied, slightly more relieved now. "The ship is losing its altitude. We need to get out, or die underwater, trapped in the ship—"

Before she had even finished her sentence, there was another boom, and a crack. At once, a section of the ship began to break off—the bow. It swung open, and a huge, roaring rush of ocean wind suddenly poured in as they fell. Ellinia was a mile away, the trees alight with points of flame and light, visible even from this distance. They were still falling, now in a ferocious spiral down towards the darkness below. Lanoré turned to Clynine and held her harder, her other hand reaching for a shelf.

"I don't know what to do either," she whispered. Clynine felt her heart beating madly like a huge drum, every beat deafening her, as the icy wind swept past her face, smelling of the ocean. Adrenalin shot through the blood like a stream of needles, and she shook with terror, screaming again.

"Jump," another man from behind them yelled. "Jump, get out and swim before the ship crushes us all!"

_But we're a mile from Ellinia, _Clynine's mind raced. _How will we make it…_

_Just trust yourself! Stay alive, and you can work the rest out yourself. And you're not alone!_

Lanoré was staring down at the black expanse that grew wider as they hurtled downwards. She turned back to Clynine again and nodded.

Then, through the rushing wind too strong to face, too powerful to contain within imagination, they leapt. Those moments seemed so unreal. The sky was soaring past them, and the boat, slowed by the resistance it met in the air, by its wide, flapping sails, fell slower than them. Clynine was still clinging to Lanoré's arm, and the Ice Lightning Archmage kept her assistant as close as she could, trying to tell her through her strong grip that they would not die.

But would they? Clynine didn't want to think.

It was at the moment when their bodies smashed the water and coldness truly gripped her flesh like a huge iron vice that she realised that they had a chance. She could feel the terrible, dark shadow growing around her, and she didn't stay frozen, waiting for something to save her, as she had all her life, as she had whenever she had gotten herself into a problem—forever depending on someone else to get her out.

She knew what she had to do, and she swam, forcing her way through the water, against the resistance that met her, against everything her old life had taught her to do. No one could help her now.

It didn't matter that she was practically helpless against the dark ocean currents. It didn't matter that the cold was creeping deep into her bones, rendering all her fingers numb. It didn't matter that saltwater was rushing over her face, entering her mouth, nose and ears. She would have to fight for her life if she wanted to keep it.

A sudden, overwhelming splash propelled her upwards, forwards, closer to the starry, whirling sky above her, upon the dark, wet body below. Somewhere close, she could hear Lanoré's shout, half of terror and half of exhilaration. The ship had plunged into the sea at last, flames smothered instantly. And they were safe, for now.

It was all like a nightmare, too unreal, too strange, that moments ago, she had been sitting in a cabin trying to sleep, and now, she was in the midst of a raging ocean, her existence itself cast into uncertainty.

The sea stilled. All around, nothing seemed to move, except for the great rhythmic movement of the currents around them, rising, falling, the piercing coldness almost overwhelming, but at the same time…calming. There were yells from the distance of the treetops, but that was the only sound that marred the scene. Chunks of wood floated around them, the remains of the ship that had once carried people across the gap between two lands, two worlds, now gone. She hoped that everyone had survived the ride.

"Clynine," a familiar, slightly hoarse voice called from a little way behind her. She knew at once that it was Lanoré. "Can you see Ellinia?"

Now, the magician turned in the undulating ocean to see the towering trees on the coast a mile away, seeming so tall, now that she could see their entire heights. The lights were lessening, and she sighed, half with relief, half with hopelessness. Her strokes in the water were growing so weak with the cold…

"How will we get back?" Clynine asked. Lanoré shut her eyes and sighed.

"I—I don't know. I really don't know."

Clynine was well versed in the rules of what to do and what not to when in cold places. They could not risk falling asleep, and especially not in the middle of deep waters. But if they didn't rest, they would never have the energy to move any closer to shore than they were now. As far as she could see, they were stuck here, simply waiting to freeze to death.

Close by, others were floating in the water, fellows in their predicament. She counted seven in total, some clinging to wooden boards, some floating about, submission in their eyes.

Only at that moment did it really hit her that she might die. There was close to no hope for them now; there seemed no way out, and it would take a miracle for them to somehow make it to shore, for all of them to make it to shore…

It appeared that the police had decided to leave them for dead. And they probably were already. Was there any chance at all that they would get out of this? They were as good as dead…

As Clynine had been thinking that thought, she felt something brush her feet, and she leapt halfway out of the water. It was as if the ground had suddenly risen up to her feet, for when she landed, she felt something bearing her upwards, still rising, until it had lifted her out of the water on its slippery, shiny surface.

She glanced about, down, heart suddenly in her mouth as she realised what it was. A whale. The native creatures had always roamed in these waters spanning between El Nath and Ellinia, saviours of thousands who had fallen into the same situation as they had…

This was the miracle they needed. Perhaps they weren't bound to die after all.

Lanoré gave a gasp of surprise from behind her, as she, too, discovered what they were now riding on. The rest of the castaways were sitting along its huge length, the dark body glimmering in the dim moonlight, stark against the huge ocean. The winds were harsher, and yet they didn't make Clynine feel as cold as she had felt before. Her fear had fled completely, replaced by sudden, growing calm, hope. Somehow, she couldn't feel the cold that bit into her flesh, wasn't bothered by the water that she had breathed in.

The whale gave a low hum and it began to move. The remaining people still floating in the water swam towards it, their hair streaming out behind them, Clynine's own plastered against her neck and face. Lanoré came closer to her and hunched her figure as she seemed to try and calm herself down.

Clynine smiled, now noticing how sleepy she suddenly felt. The itch in her nose grew and she suddenly sneezed a few times, her eyes watering heavily after that. "Uh…I'm going to catch a cold from this," she sighed, shivering. She had a bad habit of catching colds at the smallest hint of cold weather.

"But at least we'll get back safely," her mistress answered comfortingly. "You know…it's nice being with you. I noticed how you have some kind of…calming ability…it's just nice. Nice to be near you." Clynine turned to look at her, wondering.

Half an hour later, the whale below them slowed, then bumped gently against the sloped shore. Lanoré and Clynine moved over to the side of the whale and slipped off, the water suddenly seeming warm to the magician.

Lanoré turned back and whispered a thank-you to the whale, unsure of whether the creature understood. Clynine stood knee-deep in the water, alternating repeatedly between sneezing and blowing her nose on her wet handkerchief.

The rest of its passengers followed them off, and a few moments after they left, it swam away, its great body slowly vanishing below the brightness of the sparkling reflections over the gently frothing, washing water.

Clynine sniffed hard and smiled, looking about at the trees that towered above. The air was freezing around her, now that they were out of the water again.

"Well, so now, we must find a place to stay for the night," Lanoré said, walking further into the depths of the great Victoria Island forest. "Lucky for us, I have some connections here."

Lanoré went on, and Clynine followed, trusting that her mistress knew where she was going, for she certainly appeared to.

Lanoré's "connection" turned out to be a low-profile innkeeper who owned an inn in the roots of one of the trees, the entire building hidden between two wide tree trunks, windows glowing orange from the outside. As soon as they entered, the strong smell of beer and liquor met Clynine's slightly blocked nose. At the counter, there was a short, stout man wearing rugged, dirty clothes, his beard unshaved and growing at least an inch long.

As soon as they came close enough, he squinted, and his thick lips curved into what had to be a smile.

"Ah, Lanoré, good evening," he greeted her, bowing. "Good to see that you're travelling again. Would you like lodging? How long? Twenty-five percent discount for you!"

Lanoré nodded patiently to the man's exclamations. "I'd like a room for two," she said, then turned to Clynine. "You alright with sleeping with me?"

The Cleric-to-be nodded as they went down the dim corridor towards their room. She suddenly noticed how much her muscles were aching with everything they had done that day, and she sighed. At least her nose wasn't running anymore, after an hour or so out of the water. But she did need a shower badly.

The showers were, sadly, unheated, and Clynine didn't enjoy her bath that much, despite her great need for it. But of course, like the ship, the inn operated in secrecy, and could not afford heating.

Later that night, Clynine found herself sitting on her side of the bed in the middle of the darkness, staring out of the small, roughly square window which was the only opening in the wall. Only a scene of waving branches that swept over the stars every few moments greeted her vision.

She thought on everything that had happened that day. How the ship had been destroyed, how they had to live in secrecy, how she had to take her second job test secretly—it was all because of the senseless rules of the king.

Lanoré had told her some time ago that her ultimate goal in training so hard was to someday defeat the king, whether with help or without it. She had then, upon becoming her assistant, joined her in that cause. It was a thought that scared her, but now, it only felt right. All this lack of freedom was wrong. It had to go, someday.

She wondered if anyone else thought the same way. Many, no doubt, wished to do just the same, all too afraid to show their faces for fear of being captured, like they were. It was the reason for the disallowing of job advancements, and for the captures of all the most powerful people in Ossyria—precautions against rebellion. But why give the people a reason to rebel in the first place?

Something seemed wrong about the way the king was behaving. But that, like so much else, was something she would probably never work out. Something had made him the way he was now. He had not always been this way, as Lanoré had told her. Maybe, just maybe, he would realise his wrongs and return to his old self.

Clynine lay back down and tried to fall asleep again. She had a job advancement test to look forward to, and she had to get rest if she wanted to succeed.

Sleep came without her notice, and dawn the next day was upon her before she had realised. There were none of the morning sounds she was used to hearing in El Nath—no coos of the morning doves, no skua calls, just the silence that had filled the area since they had first come, and the constant, soothing rustle of the leaves through the small window, through which narrow beams of sunlight were pouring.

Clynine went through the corridors towards the common dining room where everyone would have their meals. As she got closer, the smells of cooking food got strong—she smiled, feeling hungry all of a sudden. She had not eaten since the evening before, she realised.

As Clynine entered the dining room, she found herself facing a brightly-lit table at which about fifteen people were sitting, all with shiny white plates before them. A few were looking uneasily into their blurred reflections, seeming uncomfortable with eating with people they did not know; others were scraping the plates with the bent and worn cutlery, or conversing in hushed voices with each other.

Clynine allowed her mistress to find herself a seat before she sat down on the next chair. The seats were wooden, and not very comfortable, but she didn't really mind. The knife, fork and spoon she saw laid down on either side of her plate, too, were dented and tarnished, probably old. The mage knew that they were probably unable to afford new silverware, being a secret organisation, and had no choice but to reuse their cutlery year after year.

After scrutinising the utensils laid down on the table, she looked about on either side of Lanoré and herself, observing the faces of the rest of the guests at the inn.

On Clynine's left sat a female youth of about fifteen, staring intently into her white plate. She didn't move or show any expression in her face; it was locked in an image of deep thought. Her hair appeared to have been bleached to silver-white, straight fringe covering her upper eyelids, standing out against her blue gown.

"Um…hello," Clynine attempted to begin a conversation with her.

She turned, icy blue eyes narrowed. "Leave me alone," the girl growled in reply, then turned back to her plate. The magician leapt back in her chair. What had she done that had warranted that reaction? It was scary, and intriguing at the same time.

She decided not to risk that response again, and patiently waited for her food to arrive.

Three waiters soon came out with two dishes each, and at once, the smells of food reached Clynine's nose. She breathed in the warm aroma gratefully, her stomach growling all of a sudden. _I haven't eaten for more than a day, _she realised. She was starved.

As soon as the food was served, Clynine began to take the salad, eggs and ribbon pig meat from the dishes, before wolfing them down as if she would die if she did not eat. For a few seconds, she turned to the girl to her left, and saw that she was now calmly adding a few pieces of salad to her plate with a bent fork.

"Would you like more?" one of the waiters suddenly came round to Lanoré, who was eating an egg.

She smiled and shook her head, quite surprised. "A glass of water? Fruit juice?" the man went on. Again, Lanoré shook her head. Another waiter came and laid down a napkin for the Ice Lightning Archmage, and poured her a glass of water, which he set down on the table with a bang. Then another came with a set of almost perfect cutlery.

"You should use these," she insisted with a smile, laying them down at their right positions on either side of her plate.

"I wonder why they're being so nice," she whispered to Clynine. She nodded in agreement.

The rest seemed to have realised this as well, and they were starting to whisper to each other. The mage glanced about helplessly.

"Hey!" the teenager next to Clynine stood up suddenly and yelled at the departing waiters. "Why does she get such good service?" She looked flaming mad, and Clynine cowered away from her. "We're all his customers, so why should any one of us get any more?"

One of them turned around. "Orders from our boss," she replied. "She's of a higher status than you, I'm very sure."

"What? Someone gets better service because of _higher status?_" the girl kicked her chair aside and walked up to Lanoré, who turned back, slightly surprised. "So what are you doing here, if you've got such _high status? _Don't you want something better than this lousy place?"

Clynine's heart was thumping in horror at what the girl might do to her mistress. "I actually need to stay in hiding, like all of you," Lanoré replied, still hiding the truth of her identity. "I didn't ask for this; they decided to impose it upon me."

The bad-tempered teenager folded her arms and stepped back. "Well, then I'll tell them not to be so nice to you," she offered, seething.

Clynine was beginning to feel afraid about sitting next to this girl. "Uh…L-Lanoré, could we just…go somewhere else to eat?" she pleaded, turning to face the Archmage.

"Well, we could, but it's a lot less risky—"

"—You're Lanoré?" Now, the girl had her mouth wide open in shock. She was backing away slowly, embarrassed. "Oh, I'm—sorry…"

Lanoré simply smiled and shook her head. "It's no matter," she replied. "You're, well—very interesting. May I know your name?"

"Akera," she replied quickly. "It's really an—honour to meet you."

Lanoré's eyes sparked with interest. "You're the one who killed her parents with magic," she replied. "At seven." Akera's eyes widened.

"Does _everyone _know about that?" she exclaimed in reply, returning to her seat. Meanwhile, the rest present were conversing excitedly. Lanoré smiled again.

"More than you know," she answered coolly. "Word got around fast. It is not very often that you hear about a seven-year-old who can not only use magic, but also direct one type of magic—in your case, it was fire." She then gestured to the mage by her side. "Clynine here can direct light, and it's too bad I didn't find her earlier…"

Akera turned to silently observe her. Clynine quickly turned back to her food and stuffed a lot into her mouth to prevent herself from having to answer any questions. She could already feel her face heating up with the undue attention.

She decided to change the subject of the conversation, to Clynine's gratitude. "I see why you have to do everything in hiding," she commented, her voice still respectfully soft and controlled. It seemed funny to her how Akera's attitude towards them could change so much within a few minutes.

"The king, to say the least, is mad," Lanoré agreed wholeheartedly. "It's not right, really; he fears rebellion only because he knows that we want to rebel. And we want to rebel because…he set those rules. It's really absurd. I'm quite sure it's safe to say here, I am going to overthrow him someday. We need a better ruler, or no ruler at all."

Akera nodded. "The Job Masters were given the role of leading the people, weren't they?" she replied. "Maybe they'll do a better job."

"Not while the king is in power," Lanoré sighed. "An one of us might be helpless facing the king and all his policemen and guards, but maybe…if we could somehow coordinate an attack…but that's almost impossible. None of the people of Victoria Island will have the chance to hold a meeting of ten or more without rousing the suspicion of the policemen. He's quite clever…"

Clynine sat there, thinking again about everything that had been happening to Victoria Island. There was virtually no way to overthrow the king. Lanoré couldn't stay in hiding forever; they were bound to fall into a trap someday. The same would probably happen to all the remaining people who had as much power as her mistress did. And there were no alternatives; there was no way to gather a group of people to stage an attack.

There was no point trying to think about it over and over again, Clynine decided. Maybe, if there were loopholes, no one would ever find them. They might as well leave life as it was and be grateful that it was not something worse.

And yet again, she didn't want to run forever. She was sure that Lanoré thought so as well, as did Akera. There had to be a way, a tiny possibility, that someone would find the answer and save Victoria Island from having to live like this for the rest of eternity.

The rest of breakfast was spent chatting about topics of common interest. Through the course of the conversation, Clynine found out a lot about their new acquaintance—Akera had, indeed, killed her parents as well as destroyed their home at seven, with fire magic. Then, she had become homeless, and the king's policemen placed her on the highly-wanted list. A year later, she was captured and taken to work at the Ellinia Station, working the sails of the ship, and carrying goods onto the ship whenever it was not sailing.

She told the two a lot about someone named Shirion, whom she had befriended, and who had been her only friend throughout her years there. They had escaped together, and she had been free for three and a half years already.

Now she was fifteen, a Fire Poison Mage. She had taken her test and passed the year before, a feat that hardly anyone had managed before.

"It's _my _honour to be speaking to you," Lanoré replied. "I didn't know that you were _her. _It does amaze me that we met here, in this inn."

Clynine felt uncomfortable about the two speaking to each other with her in between, but she did not dare to join the conversation. Finally Lanoré spared her the discomfort. "Let's go to Grendel soon; it's best to do the test in the morning."

"I could take you there," Akera suggested. Clynine smiled gratefully, the nervousness rising in her heart again, all of a sudden. Would it take long? What exactly would she have to do? She hoped that she would survive.

They soon finished their breakfast, all three heading out of the inn immediately to make their way to Grendel's home at the highest point in the treetops. Clynine gripped her emerald-tipped staff nervously, hoping that that alone would be enough to keep her alive and help her pass the test. She had heard Lanoré say that she had used the same kind of staff in her test, but Clynine did not believe that now.

Again she thought about the day she had taken her first test—the test that would decide whether she got the job of Lanoré's assistant. She had not used a staff then, but had used her usual method of directing magic through her hands—it was not as easy to focus without a directive object in her hands, but she had been sure it would be more impressive. How far she had come since then, she thought. Level sixteen then, and level thirty now.

This test would be worlds different. Her staff meant more to her now than ever.

The Fire Poison Mage led them along the winding pathways of the trees; there was no need to fear capture as long as they stayed in the more treacherous pathways. The trunks and leaves guarded them from the view of the people within the populated inner city.

As they went higher, Clynine felt her fears of falling off the branches growing. They had no choice but to take the most dangerous of paths up to the top, and that only increased the possibility that she might slip off or miss a gap any moment and fall to her death. Swallowing, she willed herself not to turn her eyes to the branches at her feet, watching Akera and Lanoré as they scaled higher into the branches. _Why does Grendel live so high?_

At last, they came to it, the Cleric-to-be panting, half with nerves and half with exhaustion. At the top, she allowed the wind to sweep away her tiredness and fear, before they carried on, their path levelling out once more.

Grendel's Magic Library, his home, stood high among the tallest canopies. It was perfectly ordinary—like all other buildings in Ellinia, its sky-tiled roof sloped gently in a bell-shaped cone, vines creeping over the walls and the frosted windows. She did know, however, that all who worked for the king would not be able to see the building, for it was guarded with a veiling spell that made it invisible to them. Grendel would have been captured years ago if not for it.

Seeing this building, Clynine realised, also meant that her test was drawing close. She wrapped her fingers around her emerald staff more tightly than ever, the white metal warmed by her fingers. Her heart was racing once more, and she felt even more nervous than climbing the trees on fragile vines and pathways had made her feel.

"It's not going to kill you, and you have the full capabilities to pass it," Lanoré's reassuring voice came through the storm of thoughts in her mind, her mistress sensing her lack of confidence. "I have faith in your abilities."

Clynine turned to her and bowed her head, smiling uncertainly. "Thank you, Mistress Lanoré," she replied. "But you probably think that because it was easy for you…"

"And who ever said that I was any more skilful than you when I did my test?" Lanoré answered. _She was probably way better, but she's just trying to give me some confidence, _Clynine thought to herself. _Which is what I need._

Akera had gone up the swinging vine to Grendel's front door, and was now knocking it hard. The two quickly walked over to join her at the door.

Moments after they arrived, the door swung open as it had the first time she had come. All three entered quickly, Clynine shutting the door with a slam, knowing that the building became visible whenever the door was open.

One the door had closed off all light and silence had been restored, the library's sombre, stately atmosphere engulfed her again. She glanced about at the book shelves that she had seen almost two years ago, still laden with books and lit by squares of yellow sunlight that ran through the windows, falling upon the worn book covers.

Akera had just finished explaining the purpose of their visit, frustration quickly showing in her voice as she repeated her sentences for a second time.

"I'm sorry about that, I was in the middle of my meditation," he apologised, blinking and inclining his head towards them. "You can't possibly be ready for your fourth job yet; you took your previous test just last winter. Unless you have sprung another, unimaginable surprise on me…"

"Not me!" Akera yelled, shocking Clynine to know that she dared to raise her voice at the Job Master for such a small matter.

Finally, he seemed to notice the magician, the Cleric-to-be. "Clynine? Have you come for your second job?"

Clynine turned to look up at the Job Master with fearful eyes. "I—have," she replied, voice alarmingly soft. "I'm here to take my second job test." She said it a little louder this time. How would he start? Would they be going anywhere outside?

Soon, her questions were answered. Slowly, the wise old man, whose seemingly frail body hid the greatest well of magic imaginable, descended through the golden morning sunlight and came to her face level, his feet suddenly touching the ground for the first time she had seen, robes falling over his simple brown shoes almost instantly.

Akera blinked a few times when she saw that he was standing on the ground. He ignored their stares. "Of course," he said to Clynine, smiling, eyes still shaded by his tall Archmage's hat. "Ah, Clynine, the one whose soul is so pure…"

"Pure?" Her mouth was hanging open with surprise. What made him think that she was so pure? She was definitely not perfect.

He floated into the air again, only three feet off the ground now. With a sweep of his blue-gemmed staff, the door swung smoothly open and he proceeded to float through the doorway, hat brushing the top of the door without falling off. Why was it that the Magician Job Master could do such comical things and make them look so stately?

Said Job Master's head turned back to face the Cleric-to-be. "Let's not waste any time now; I honestly and sincerely cannot wait to see your performance today."

Blinking a few times with surprise, she followed after, hearing the soft wishes of good luck from her mistress and from Akera, her new friend—or something close to _friend, _but not quite. "And good day to you, Lanoré," he suddenly said, turning. Lanoré bowed in reply.

Grendel had already gone as far as the next layer of branches, below his home. Remembering that the invisibility spell stopped working whenever the door was open, she quickly took one more glance at the two inside, swallowed fearfully, then shut the door and clambered down the vine rope, following Grendel towards the place where she would be tested.

* * *

_ralinn: song of terror_

She had heard the fourth and fifth songs. They had the same words, both spirits, the same temperaments as well. Darkness. Anger. Hate. Ralinn was afraid.

_"Here, alone for more than a decade,_

_Blood of hundreds on our hands_

_Trying, wishing to escape this_

_Cage of hate to see the lands."_

It was a song that sent chills through her entire body. The voices themselves simply weren't normal.

_Well, _she thought to herself. _If the dream voice wants us to stop the king, the guild members _can't _be normal._

One line hung in her mind, though. _Blood of hundreds on our hands. _When she found them, she hoped that it would not be in a moment of life and death.

* * *

_orion's belt: somewhere in the dark_

Ralinn had passed her third job test easily. It seemed that her skills at the bow had grown without her notice, for she always said that she was no better than she had been after her escape from the castle. But however much better she was now than last time, she had managed the third job test fairly well, and an hour after she had gone to meet Athena Pierce, she had returned, bleeding, bruised and smiling, a new bow in her hands.

"Hey, Linn, when did you get that thing?" Raydan interrogated her as soon as she had entered their shared room in the small inn. It was just large enough to accommodate all four members of Orion's Belt, the air growing warm in the summer's heat.

Ralinn smiled at her envious brother's expression. "At the shop," she answered. "Where else?"

Ketara stared on at the bow. Once again, he recalled the last time he had ever taken notice of a bow—the day he had been taunted and led into a dangerous part of Perion by a bowman, and had only barely survived there. He still fumed whenever he pictured the boy's face, contorted into a sneer, as he fired a swift Arrow Blow at the wild boar he had had so much trouble killing.

But that was a bygone, he told himself. He wouldn't let that happen again, and let anger lead him to do stupid things like that. And he couldn't think that way of all three of the other job classes—it had only been one person. _Oh, but I'll get back at _him, he thought to himself, appalled by the look he remembered seeing on his face.

Suddenly, the spearman recalled what Ralinn's return meant—they could go to the Dungeon, at last! "So could we get going now?" he asked the guild leader eagerly, jumping up and down on the bed.

"Don't jump on the bed, you'll spoil the springs," Ralinn advised. "And yeah, I promised, so let's go to the Dungeon now?"

"Uh—are you sure?" Zethis, once again, did not seem too keen on the idea of going into the dark heart of Victoria Island.

Thinking of his experience there, he grinned. It had been tiring, disgusting, trying on his endurance, and fun—and he wanted to do it again. "It'll be fun!" he exclaimed in reply, choosing to omit the other three adjectives. "I went there once. And it wasn't as bad or scary as everyone makes it out to be."

"We'll take your word for it," Raydan replied. The Crossbowman was off the bed as well, picking up his bag and crossbow from the bedside. "Hey people, we'd better hurry if we want to get there soon."

They only took a minute to check out, thanks to the efficient receptionist. As they stepped out, Zethis turned back to admire the inn.

"This was the first place I ever stayed after I left on my journey," he sighed, sinking into reminiscence. "This White Knight took me here, and he was the one who inspired me to want to take this job path, in fact—Hyrien was his name, if I'm not wrong…"

"Hyrien?" Raydan's interest had been sparked. "He's in Nightfall, that guild! The highest-levelled person around. You've met him before?"

Zethis nodded with surprise and excitement. "The first person to tell me his name," he replied. "I sometimes wonder where he has gone, and what he's doing now. The world is pretty small, it seems…"

"Maybe we'll meet him again!" the Crossbowman said, looking straight along the road they were taking. "I'd love to introduce everyone to you. But I'm not sure if we'll meet them again…"

They had lunch along one of the more deserted roads of Henesys, where the shopkeeper kindly allowed them to hide during the policemen's afternoon patrol. As soon as the way was clear, they left quickly for the exit to the Dungeon.

As they neared the city's border, they saw the castle of King Caleix, a tall, ancient building on the hill to the east of the city, all its turrets clawing the cloud-streaked sky like talons of a beast. Turning away from it, they finally found the open gates that lead into the dense, unforgiving forest.

Ketara turned to observe the gates. They had stood open for so long, vines and weeds tangling around the wrought iron already, and yet the road was hardly trampled over, the weeds and wild grass growing thickly on the path. So there _was _something that the king feared—the Dungeon, so much that he had not sent even his subjects to patrol. That was interesting and somehow comforting to know. That also meant that they would not have to worry about being caught in the Dungeon.

As they stepped through the gates and crossed the grass path to the place where civilization met wilderness, the treetops loomed closer, before sheltering them completely from the afternoon sunlight. They walked on, foliage thickening over their heads, thousands of leaves crackling below their feet, untouched by human feet for years already.

At last, it was dark as night, and everywhere they looked, the area before their vision was darker than pitch. It was just like it had been the last time, Ketara noted, even though they were entering by the south this time.

Ralinn's footsteps froze in front of them, they could tell by the sudden silence in the crackling leaves. "So…how do we go on from…here?" her voice asked.

Ketara tried to recall what had happened when he had last come here. He had gotten completely lost, and somehow stumbled upon a river, before realizing that he would have to eat raw meat, and doing just that. "We…just go with the flow, if you know what I mean," he replied. "And I think I know my way around a little; that might help."

It turned out that he could not recognise a thing out in the dark here. Everyone could hardly see, even though they had been walking about for at least twenty minutes already. The spearman swallowed nervously, realizing that he was to blame, should they get lost out in this endless maze of tree trunks. _It was my suggestion…_

They trekked through the pillar-like trunks of the Dungeon trees, among the dead leaves and the smell of dampness, for two hours on end, no one ever complaining once that their journey was taking so long.

_They think I know the way, _Ketara suddenly realised, gulping. _What am I going to do now?!_

"You know, people," he said, turning in the general direction of their footsteps. "I ought to tell you that…I have no idea where we're going."

"I figured just as much," Raydan's answer came. Even his voice sounded tired and fed-up. The first hints of real panic had started to reach into his heart, and he was now more desperate than ever to find someplace safe, at least _familiar…_

How deep were they? A two hours' walk into the Dungeon would mean that they were pretty deep into the southern side. But which direction had they gone? He needed a landmark, or some sense of direction…

Suddenly, the ground came to a steep drop, the trees leaning slightly out into the depth. Ketara's heart leapt. He knew this place. _This _drop. It meant that they were nearing the weird ant cave, and a fresh supply of water!

"Okay, _now _I think I know where we're going," he piped up, a smile returning to his lips. Behind him, he heard sighs of relief as the rest of Orion's Belt breathed out their nerves and tension. "There's water close by, and a place to stay, though it isn't the most comfortable. Come on!"

With that, he raced down the slope, grabbing tree trunks to slow his slide downhill. He couldn't contain his excitement and elation at the prospect of their salvation in this forest—a place that he recognised and knew the way around. He had spent at least a month hunting here before.

The sounds of the roaring river were coming through the dense forestation, and they proceeded as fast as they could, waterskins almost empty, and thirsty for a drink. They would probably have to stay around this area for a while, making a temporary home here, and hunting around it…

_I really should have told them how hard it was, _Ketara decided, a little too late.

Finally, they came to the edge of the source of the sound of flowing water, hardly glimmering in the faintest light from the torches of a town nearby. _Sleepywood! _He had almost forgotten how near it was to the ant tunnel, the huge cave which gaped in the sloped earth close behind them.

"That's where we can stay," he said to Ralinn, pointing to the cave. "I stayed there for a while. Good hunting inside and out." The rest, whose shapes he could faintly see, nodded as they turned to look at it.

"So why don't we check that place out," Ralinn suggested. "After drinking enough? You're right, the water tastes like plants."

Zethis and Raydan spent the longest at the river. Then they came to join Ketara and Ralinn at the mouth of the tunnel. "Sure about this?" the Page's voice was shaking with true terror. There were strange sounds, the sounds of Zombie Mushrooms, coming from within it.

Ketara nodded confidently. "I'm sure!" he exclaimed, stepping in. By the sound of their footsteps, the rest were following.

As they walked, the sounds of their footsteps rang loudly in the darkness, echoing off earthen walls back to their ears. They went on further and deeper, searching for a place where they could make proper beds to sleep on, and Ketara secretly hoped that they would, since he had slept on the floor when he had lived here.

The rustles of the Zombie Mushrooms as they passed were loud, but the creatures only brushed against them harmlessly, knowing that they were too strong to face. The sense of deepening, pressing darkness grew as they went deeper, but they refused to let that deter them.

"Well, not good for sleeping on. Let's go in further." Ketara decided to listen to Ralinn.

The earth walls ended, and stone ones began. Blue crystals grew over the fallen stone arches and monuments that lay strewn over the ground all around them, giving off bright, azure light. This was a familiar sight, but he had never tried going further than the next doorway, which they were headed for now. Somehow, even he felt uneasy about going too far in.

Suddenly, there was the rush of footsteps from the shadows behind the next arch, and a loud, angry shout. There were other humans here—

_"What are you doing here?"_

All of a sudden, a barrage of flaming balls whooshed from the doorway, hurtling with deadly speed at them. All four stepped aside or ducked in time, and the balls of fire smashed open on the wall behind, bursting loudly.

There was another shout, this time from the doorway. "They're _mine_, Rino," a harsh girl's voice screamed, before the sound of metal slicing the air came dangerously close, and all of them ducked down. The metal objects clattered to the ground behind them.

"Ha, you call that an attack?"

"_You _didn't do much better! Don't always make yourself out to be so _good._"

Recognition hit Ketara suddenly. "Telida? Turino? You live _here?_"

Raydan ran to his side. "You know them?" he questioned.

"Yeah, they helped me last time I came here. Yeah, I had help."

Both twins emerged from the doorways, Telida racing up to the group in surprise. "Ketara?" she exclaimed, not seeming to believe that he was here. "Is that really you?" There was a disbelieving frown on her face.

"You again? What're you doing here, in _our _home?" Turino was behind him.

Now, in the light of the crystals, he could see clearly how they looked. Both had black hair and matching eyes of obsidian, their hair unkempt and fringes uncut, falling over their faces. But they undoubtedly had this look of grace and _coolness _in their sharp features, which were carved in ivory skin. Turino's hair reached up to his shoulders in thick, messy locks; Telida's almost reached her waist.

_What do you expect of people who have been living without sunlight for almost all their lives, _he thought to himself. _I didn't think they looked this…nice, though._

"We need somewhere to stay?" he replied uncertainly, sure that they were the kind to chase people out of their homes.

"No, alright? We won't accommodate _all _of you!" Telida screamed, walking straight up to stand before Ketara. A snarl entered her voice. "In fact, we should be _killing _you! I don't know what's with you, but I don't want to kill you for nothing. Get out quick! I don't think my brother is this forgiving."

Everyone turned to Turino, who folded his arms and gave them a passive glare. That was enough to make Ralinn dip them a quick bow and turn around. Ketara followed after.

"Nice home, by the way," he called, turning back, voice definitely too cheerful for the situation. Zethis stammered a greeting and an apology and turned as well.

Ralinn went on in the direction they had come, across the stones of the inner cave towards the exit. They finally reached the dankness of the tunnel, picking their way through in single file. To Ralinn, their encounter with—she struggled to recall how Ketara had addressed them—Turino and Telida had been a very close shave.

"I can't believe you could actually be so friendly with them," she commented to the spearman, who turned suddenly and smiled.

"They were actually not that bad, the first time I met them," he replied. "They helped me find my way around, a little, though they did steal something of mine."

They were killers, _creatures_ of the darkness, and he actually befriended them on his own. Ketara really _did _have a way with people—the social butterfly, as always.

"Have they really not been out of the Dungeon for all their lives?" Raydan's voice was bewildered.

"They certainly seem so," Ralinn replied. "How do they survive? I did hear stories that people who enter the Dungeon never leave. Is it because of…them?"

"Maybe, and other things," Ketara said, looking up at the ant tunnel's ceiling as if in thought. "As far as I know, they kill everyone they can for their food, clothes, weapons and skill books. But I don't see how they could know how to read in the first place…I'd suppose one of the reasons why people never come out of here is because the twins kill them."

"For survival," Ralinn said softly. Somehow, she felt pity instead of anger towards them. How had they gotten here?

The animal sounds grew to encompass them as they stepped from the dank murk of the cave to meet the dim surroundings outside, just traces of wind stirring—that was no matter, the air was cold already. There were chirps of insects and calls of birds they did not recognize, and the ever murmuring whisper of the river close by, superimposed against the wild, strangely calming sounds of the animals.

Ralinn suddenly realized how hungry she felt. Thankful for the fact that she had brought some food along from the Henesys potion shop, they sat down for a while at the roots of a huge tree, Ralinn taking out a few of the eggs and hunks of meat in paper bags, and passed them out to the four members of Orion's Belt.

Evening had probably fallen a while ago, but there was no telling whether it had. There was no more natural light from the sun now. Only the dim light that somehow slipped through the dense vegetation from the torches of Sleepywood showed them where they set down their next footsteps.

They made their way to the little town, hoping for some lodging, despite the fact that the only people who lived there were the monks of the shrine, as well as the few shopkeepers who supplied Sleepywood's few residents with food. There would probably be somewhere to stay in the village.

"Excuse me, sir, do you know where we might find some lodging?" There happened to be an old man standing outside his house, watering his plants, so Ralinn decided to inquire about the place.

He looked up with squinted eyes, white beard flung back over his shoulder. Age had turned him partly bald, and the torchlight glared yellow on the top of his head. "Lodging?" was his lisping reply—he had lost all his teeth. "The monks are kind; not many have made it here before, but I'm sure they'll take you in." Ralinn bowed and thanked him. He gave a nod of acknowledgement and went back to his gardening.

The Ranger had intended to ask him where the monks lived, but she decided against disturbing him. It was not hard to find anyway—the old rock building stood on a higher part of the small village, surrounded by a wide garden and many strange statues of rectangular human faces, sharp, squared features carved into rock, dark brown in the firelight. Their gazes struck reverence and odd fear into Ralinn, making her hair stand.

They crossed the gravelly path to the tall, tarnishing gold-decorated door of the temple. Ketara saved her the trouble and stress, and knocked on the great rectangle of wood, making a hollow woody sound that made her feel as if it might fall any moment. The golden decorations, attached loosely, rang with his knocks.

It didn't take long for a monk to answer. The door creaked slowly open, and a bald man, white dots seemingly burnt into his forehead, appeared before them. He wore brown monk's garb, the robe almost too big for him.

"Excuse me, sir, could we stay in the temple for the next few nights?" Ralinn asked. _How long? _She wondered to herself, before remembering that she was the guild leader, and that she would decide how long they stayed. "For a week, maybe?"

The monk looked up at her face and observed her watchfully. "Ah, some lost travelers, perhaps?" he inquired. "It has been a while since we have had any visitors, but do come in! But take off your shoes first."

The monk took them through dim halls, the walls decorated with ornate weavings of trees, men and women, and dragons. "A temple of the Clock Spirit?" Ralinn whispered to herself as they came to the statue at the main altar, in the center of the building.

It was a huge deity of hardly discernable form, something like a human being overflowing with robes and dresses, the folds of cloth so intricately remade in stone here, exploding over the altar like an upside-down flower. There was a circle of twelve candles burning below the statue, and a pool of water in the middle, the slick reflections of black and orange it echoed making it look almost like oil.

"Guest rooms here," the middle-aged monk told the group of four, gesturing down a corridor leading left from the altar. Wordlessly, they went down the corridor, the air of mystery surrounding Ralinn again. Even the guest corridor seemed so holy and sacred.

After finally getting more comfortable with the room which the four were about to share, the guild leader got some food out of her bag to share with the others.

"No need, I brought some too," Zethis said, digging a bag of salad from the bottom of his bag.

"Salad?" Ketara exclaimed, screwing up his face. He produced a familiar bright orange packet from his bag. "I nicked this from your larder. Chips, anyone?"

Ralinn was in front of him instantly, as was Raydan, and the three began to snatch the packet from each other, stuffing chips into their mouths. Zethis just sat at one side, eating his salad. The Ranger was sure that anyone watching this scene would be laughing to death.

Full and content after having a sandwich and a few chips, Ralinn settled to sleep in her sleeping bag on the floor. The bed only had space for one person, and they had drawn lots for it. Raydan had won the right, and the other three had been condemned to resting for the night on the cold tiled floor. _I hope there's a bath around here, _was Ralinn's last thought.

The dreams returned that night, the two voices louder than she had ever heard. Angry.

_"Here, alone for more than a decade,_

_Blood of hundreds on our hands_

_Trying, wishing to escape this_

_Cage of hate to see the lands."_

Cage of hate…of hate…

Moments later, her eyes opened, and Ralinn found herself sweating from the force of sheer anger and desperation in the spirits that had sung that night.

At once, she knew who they were.

"Quick, wake up, it's morning!" Ralinn yelled, glancing at her watch, which registered nine o'clock. The other three groaned and turned as she went to them in turn.

"Zethis," she sighed, returning to the closest person to her sleeping area. "Get up, quick, we have to go back to the tunnel."

He turned. "Why?" he replied, barely audible. "It's…scary." His eyes were still clouded with sleep.

"Just get up!"

It was easy waking Zethis and Ketara up. But Raydan, who was used to it, knocked her arm away whenever she tried to shake him, burying his head in the pillow when she shouted. _Shouldn't have given him the bed, _Ralinn thought regretfully. "Get up! The rest of us are ready already, and you're not even out of the bed!"

Ten minutes later, he finally relented and struggled from under the covers, feeling for the table to steady himself as he got up.

It didn't take them long to get ready. The only shower around was the waterfall near the temple, and no one wanted to stay in it very long, and the coldness helped their footsteps speed up as they headed for the dining room for their breakfast.

Their breakfast took no more than fifteen minutes. While they ate, Ketara noted that Ralinn seemed in an awful hurry to leave. She was dropping crumbs of bread everywhere, when she was normally a neat eater.

"Quick, guys!" she exclaimed, standing instantly. "We must find them…"

_Them?_

They ran down the gravel pathway again, following the course of the river to the point where they had been the day before, where they had taken a turn into the deep undergrowth and entered the tunnel…

Again, they were racing down the tunnel, Ralinn leading the group as she glanced frantically about. She was searching for Telida and Turino, Ketara was sure now. But why? She had been afraid of them earlier. Why had she suddenly decided to reconcile herself with them, if that was what she intended?

They searched for an hour, footsteps ringing over the rock ground as they checked behind rocks and crumbled pillars for the two. Ketara found traces of their habitation—a few sets of old clothing carelessly thrown here and there, many animal skeletons, and a few other odds and ends that they had probably stolen. But no sign of them.

"Turino and Telida," she said to herself. "We must find them…"

"They seem to be gone," Raydan said as they came to meet her near the exit. "Why so badly?"

"It's them. They're the next two members of Orion's Belt."

Orion's Belt went deeper into the cave, which went gradually downward with a series of rooms connected by stairs. The revelation that the twins were to be the next two members of their guild left Ketara greatly surprised. Who would have guessed? The two had never seemed like the kind to want to take on the king—did they even know what was going on outside the Dungeon?

They had lunch on the marble floor, eating the stale meat and salad that they managed to dig up from their haversacks and pouches, before continuing their search after that. Maybe Turino and Telida would return if they waited. Meanwhile, they went on deeper.

This place wasn't familiar, he suddenly realised, stopping in the midst of semi-darkness, noting how the ceiling above and the ground below was cracked and deeply cratered, seeming as if it had been trampled over by huge footsteps.

He heard a moan. Zethis and Raydan, who had been conversing with each other, fell instantly silent. All their expressions said the same thing. _What was that?_

Then a huge mass of flesh leapt through the stalagmites, the enormous thump it made knocking them down to the ground. It stood towering over them, its sheer size inconceivable, its full form of horror topped with a brown mushroom cap. They stood, instinct telling them to run. But they would never escape it; somehow, all of them knew. None of them tried to turn.

"We'll fight it," Ralinn said determinedly. Her bow was already drawn, two arrows strung in its curve. Ketara swung the Holy Spear from his back, the four cross-points gleaming. Close to him, Zethis had a large metal hammer ready, and Raydan, his crossbow.

They didn't know what, exactly, they were up against. But this was a fight to the finish, and there was no other way.

Then tension was building in the air around them, the sound of all their breaths audible in the silence of the cave. Ketara's grip on his spear got tighter in anticipation. They would wait for it to attack first.

It came without warning. With an enormous leap, the great bulk of the mushroom flew through the fallen brown rubble around them and landed with a ground-shaking boom. They raced aside as it landed, turning instantly to begin their assault of attacks.

"Power Arrow! Power Arrow!" The repeated shouts were coming from Ralinn as she gathered energy in blue spirals around her nocked Fury Arrows before launching them repeatedly, one after another. Her brother fought similarly with shining Soul Arrows from his crossbow, the projectiles striking like stings in the monster, magic blowing little potholes in its white sides.

"Hyper Body," Ketara whispered, ochre light rising upwards around him and the rest as it always did, mana dropping slightly. "Iron Will." The same happened, with blue light instead.

He glance up and down the great mushroom. It looked like an expanded version of the Zombie Mushrooms nearer to the surface, complete with the yellow tag that held an indecipherable bloody scrawling. He would have to come up close in order to do it damage, but with his long weapon, it wouldn't mean going _too _near. As for Zethis…

"Power strike!" he yelled, feeling the power gather in his arms with his words. Moments later, he shot forward and the blazing spear found its way deep into the monster. He felt more energy welling in him and got ready to use it again. "Final attack!" The spear slashed down at its side, leaving a gash.

There was another yell of Power Strike as Zethis attempted to get it in the front, swinging his steel Titan down on its face. The creature gave a shrieking cry and retaliated with a full blast of yellow light. The Page stumbled back a few steps, injured, Ketara managing to leap to a side an instant before it struck.

From the right, he could hear commands for Strafe, Power Strike and Final attack, arrows burning in three different colours as they slashed through the darkness and found their marks in the mushroom. Yellow burned upwards from the ground, Ralinn and Raydan falling back with it. Ketara rose to the chance and hit it with another Power Strike.

A shot of yellow flame burst upwards at his feet, and he flew back three feet, into a wall. His head gave a painful crunch as it collided with the hard stone, and he stood, dizzy, desperately rubbing the bruised spot. He just felt the edge of a wound before he realised that there was blood running down his arm.

Wincing, the Spearman quickly regained his composure in time to see Zethis fall forward with the creature's magic attack. Raydan strung another arrow and released it, Ralinn taking a sip from her Mana Elixir before swinging her bow back into position. The monster, despite its numerous small wounds and scratches, hardly looked battered. This was not going to be easy at all.

The two bow-users rested for a few moments. That cost them both some harsh burns. They quickly drank potions while the two warriors continued to attack nearer to the mushroom, taking a lot more damage than the two in the backlines.

"Ketara, I'm out of mana potion," Zethis called over, running quickly out of range. The Spearman pulled his quarter-full bottle from his bag, his arms shaking so much from exhaustion that he almost dropped it. He was losing a lot of blood through his wound. Zethis took it and drank a little gratefully, before returning to his position.

More arrows raged through the air but turned into mere burning pinpricks as they struck the mushroom in its side. It stumbled slightly, but quickly rose again. They were weakening it, but not enough.

Then they froze as a furious call rose over the sounds of their weapons and arrows, and a blaze of red light burst through the battle and shot deep into the mushroom they were fighting. In unison, they turned.

"Didn't we tell you to get _out _already?" Telida was snarling at them, long black hair fluttering out in the sapphire light of the cave, more throwing stars already burning in her hand.

"Can you kill this thing?" Ketara called, relief suddenly rushing through him to see her.

"No, it's too strong—but we can ask it to go away," she replied.

Turino appeared after her. "But since you've started the battle already," he said decisively, stepping forward, wielding a staff that Ketara had never seen before, its head shaped like a pair of wings.

Close by, Ralinn gasped. "That's a level sixty-five staff," she said, apparently to herself. "He killed a level sixty-five mage."

Turino swept his staff in an arc. The staff burst into a flame, bow-shaped, and from it he launched three arrows, one after another. The flaming projectiles shot through the still air faster than real arrows, crackling with powerful flames. They burnt deep into the mushroom.

"Oh, so you're going to kill _this _as well?" Telida spat at her brother, stepping aside. "Go ahead. I know _I'm no match for you_."

"Come on, you _know _I can't kill it alone, alright?"

"Oh, just stop it," Raydan said exasperatedly, never taking his eyes off the monster as his hands deftly loaded crossbow bolts one after another on his Rower and fired them straight into their foe.

It was slowing, Ketara noted with added relief and hope. "Power Strike!" His spear swung out with more energy than it had in the last few attacks. He managed to drive it deep, costing a little energy, but inflicting it with a lot of pain. It cried out again.

Telida and Turino had joined the battle with full momentum, despite the fact that they had not been prepared for this, and that Orion's Belt was not welcome in their cave. When the stream of throwing stars stopped, arrows came to take on the attack role. The mushroom was given less chances to recover and gather energy for attack, and with that, the two warriors could battle a lot more effectively.

Ketara attacked again, suddenly wanting the battle to end more than ever, so that they could get the twins into the guild. "Power Strike!" he shouted, thrusting his Holy Spear into the monster, feeling more energy gather up into his arm muscles. "Final attack!"

It turned to him. Shutting out all the rest of the attacks for a few seconds, it sent flashes of light out at the Spearman, and he was thrown to the ground once more. The dull ache at the back of his skull burst into sudden, excruciating pain. He stood up, just barely, vision whirling all of a sudden.

Then it vanished all at once, before he could realise. Ketara suddenly felt new energy rush into his body like healing light, and he found all his strength returning. "Power Strike! Power Strike!" He performed three Final Attacks in a row after that. His strange hidden power had returned once more. It seemed to do so whenever he was in a dire situation, it seemed. Would he ever learn to control it?

"Power Strike!" Ketara looked forward as he readied another blow. Zethis was bludgeoning the creature with his hammer with little effort. His eyes were…glowing. Ketara had been told that his eyes glowed when he unlocked his powers. Could Zethis do the same?

Again, ignoring the dizziness that was spinning around in his head, he ran, raised the Holy Spear and drove it into the monster with all his weight. It froze at spear point all of a sudden, its battered body convulsing once, before it suddenly began to crumble away, its tag fluttering downward like a huge petal to land on the marble ground.

"Wow, you performed the killing blow," Ralinn said, stepping forward. It was strange, the silence; one moment, there was a towering beast before them, and the next, it had completely vanished.

Then as suddenly as it had come, the power vanished from his body. He collapsed to the ground, suddenly noticing that his dark hair was literally dripping blood, the wound throbbing with repeated flashes of claw-like pain.

"Ouch, that's gotta hurt," Telida commented after a moment of silence. Ketara watched through blurred vision as she walked to stand over him. Feebly, he held out his arm, hoping that she would help him stand, no matter how unlikely this was. She did. Her grip was exceptionally strong, almost bone-crushing. "We've got some stuff to put on it…but I'm not sure how much that will help." Immediately, she ran off somewhere.

"Hey, Linn, ask them now," Raydan's voice just barely came through to his hearing.

"Uh—you two, would you, by any chance…want to—end the oppression that the king is imposing on us all? Um…get rid of the king?" Ralinn asked, voice shaking with nerves. "I don't know—you are the prophecised fifth and sixth members…"

"Not a bad idea, really, getting rid of the king," Turino commented. There was a spark of what might have been anger, but Ketara didn't think that he would half care about what King Caleix did or had done. Telida nodded in agreement. "Yes, alright. But don't think we'll let you tell us what to do all the time."

"Alright, so…you will join?" Ralinn confirmed, still seeming too surprised at their agreement.

"Are you stupid, or deaf? We said 'yes'."

Athe guild leader flinched at Telida's response. She cautiously held out two pendants, and they came forward, snatching them from her hand. They observed the metal pieces, somewhat hungrily, Ketara thought. But they put the items on anyway. No one dared to speak for a while.

"Welcome to Orion's Belt!" the Spearman finally exclaimed, grinning, after a few moments of silence. Telida burst out laughing, and Turino sniggered.

"You should see the expression on your face," the female twin said, still smiling widely. Ketara thought on this and blushed. It seemed strange to him how everyone found him so funny.

"That done, let's get out," Ralinn said. "And…I hope we can find our way around better, with them."

"Definitely," Ketara said optimistically. As soon as Telida had tied the bandage around his head, they began on their way out of the cave, Orion's Belt now two members bigger.

Ketara drifted over to Zethis' side as they went, his question still bugging him. "Hey, Zethis," he called.

The Page started, leaping away in shock. "Y-yes?"

Ketara laughed to himself. "Your eyes were…um…glowing, just now," he explained. "I was wondering; do you have that weird power that seems to come out at night only?"

Zethis looked up, blinking as he thought. "You're right! It does only appear at night!" he exclaimed, before turning back to face the Spearman, shocked. "Y-you too! Chief Dances with Balrog said…"

"I guess I can do it too," Ketara agreed. "I don't know…but it seems we're related in some way. And Dances with Balrog seems to have realised that…"

Zethis seemed to want to change the subject, now that their conversation had begun. "How do you actually dare to talk to Telida and Turino?" he exclaimed, glancing down at the two. Ketara suddenly noticed that their clothes were badly tattered, as if they had been wearing them for years.

"Um…they're nice," he replied simply. "They just don't like meeting new people, I guess."

"They said that they kill everyone, and that they would have killed us, if not for you!" Zethis repeated what Telida had said. "How _did _you make them so friendly to you?"

Ketara thought back to their first meeting. True, they should have killed him, like any other person who had gone by before. But…what had they said then? He tried to remember.

_"He's the most interesting, and good-looking, person who's ever come round here before..."_

_"I see what you mean by good-looking."_

Ketara felt himself blush again at the words he had heard years ago. "I should go ask," the Spearman said, more to himself than to Zethis. The Page nodded.

"Um…hey, Rino," he attempted to start a conversation with the obsidian-haired youth. For some reason, Turino still made Ketara nervous.

"Who gave _you _the permission to call me that?!" he yelled in response, dark hair flying to cover the right side of his face. His eyes were empty, like pools of coal, his expression so furious it would have scared a young child to tears. It only startled Ketara a little.

"Turino, then," he quickly corrected himself. "Why didn't you kill me?"

Somehow, it sounded like he was asking to be killed. Turino gave a sniff of disdain. "Ask my dumb sister," he said. "Well, all I can say is that you're of more use to the world alive than dead. I mean, who wants your stuff anyway?"

"Ignore him," Telida cut in, walking to Ketara's other side. "Rino really loves to kill people. And yeah, you're more useful alive than dead. You were…nice, I guess. Nicer than everyone else who's met us. And you didn't go crazy when you found out that I stole your mesos." She smiled to herself and gave him a knock on his head. "You stupid or what? Giving in to us like that."

"I don't mind," Ketara replied, not sure of what to do. He _really _wouldn't have minded if someone poorer than him had taken his money.

"You are _really _strange," Turino said, not turning around.

"Be nice to the rest, 'kay?" the Spearman said, noting how everyone was drifting away from them as they walked. "They're nice too."

* * *

_shirion: after so long_

Shirion crept between the snow-laden trunks of the trees at the south of Ellinia, hidden by the predawn shadows.

He had reached his seventy-seventh level in the deeper parts of the undergrowth, the sweat still wetting his hair, which was now bound in a low-worn pony-tail. He untied it, his long mahogany-brown locks falling far past his shoulders, before redoing it more neatly.

Suddenly he straightened. He had heard something—the crackle of snow underfoot, behind him. It had been made by something larger than the squirrels he so often saw, springing from branch to branch—was he being followed by the guards? He had been on the run for four years and grown to a level that would warrant his instant execution; had they finally caught up with him?

Telling himself to calm down, he braced himself for what he would find when he turned. The winter wind descended through the rustling treetops, as dawn crept through the spaces between the leaves, dappling the white ground below.

The Crusader turned. His eyes widened for an instant, his mind still not comprehending what he was seeing.

"Akera!"

The silver-haired Fire Poison Mage gasped, loud enough for him to hear. She stood just at the edge of the small clearing, a half-silhouette between the wooden pillars. Her mouth curved into a smile Shirion had not seen for three and a half years.

"So, you finally noticed me!" she replied, running forward to give him a bear hug. He was too shocked, initially, to respond. "How has it been?"

"Third job. Haven't been caught, as you can see. I just came, about a month ago, from Perion—"

"Some coincidence this is!" Akera replied. "I've been hanging around here since we parted, actually. Found a place to stay, got to my third job as well, last year…"

"And you're a year younger than me!"

Somehow, it seemed like a dream. Was it possible that they had actually met again? Shirion had never expected to see Akera again, not in his entire life. He did wonder about her sometimes, but he had never considered this possibility.

So now he had a companion to travel. "Want to go to Ossyria someday?" he suggested. She nodded, stepping back.

"Ossyria, it is."

* * *

_clynine: the journey back_

Clynine had been a Cleric for about two months already. The winds were dropping in temperature as the year entered winter, the trees now bare.

Lanoré looked forward at the wide ocean that spread from the coast, cold breezes of salt rushing past them. "Time to go back?" she asked. Clynine nodded. They had seen more of Victoria Island than she had ever seen in the full twelve years of her life. Her mistress was smiling, probably at the prospect of home.

"So…let's go, then." They had already found the location of the secret jetty on the Ellinia side. The ship service had been rebuilt, the previous captain having survived the crash, though the ship had been wrecked completely, and a new one had had to be constructed in secrecy. "Back to Ossyria."

Turning, Lanoré began walking along the tree-rimmed coast, along the path of the morning. Clynine followed, thinking of where they were headed—home, heart pounding with anticipation. She couldn't wait.

* * *

_orion's belt: plans_

In the midst of the deep snow just north of the great forest, Ketara suddenly saw blue light rise up all around him. He thought for a while, counting. _Level seventy!_

He was eligible for his third job!

"Judging from that expression, I'd believe it's time for your third job test?" Ralinn walked over. The others were still busy at the drakes, chasing them down through the soft snow.

Ketara nodded. "Hope it's not too hard," he said to himself. "And once I get it, we can go to Ossyria!"

"How about us?" Raydan shouted, slightly annoyed.

"Alright, after you two as well!" Ketara laughed, and the Hunter gave a sigh, probably at the thought of how hard it would be to catch up with his friend.

Ossyria…how much better was it there? A thought, almost heavenly, an escape from the torture of living in dying Victoria, shriveling at the hands of an irresponsible king. It was only a ship ride away. An exhilarating ship ride, towards a land that was still free…

How much better was Ossyria, across the great celestial-blue expanse of sky?


	5. Year of the Ox

It's here xD

If the previous chapter put you off, I'm sorry. That one was the draggiest ever, but I swear it'll never be so slow again.

Three things I can promise for this one: it has a lot of action, it has a lot of back-stories, and it will pass **really **fast. Promise. Now go ahead, and read. And don't forget to review.

* * *

Chapter 5: Year of the Ox

_clynine: chains_

Theride had been so much smoother than the first. As the boat careened over the water and came to a stop, Clynine stretched out her arms in joy, feeling fresh despite aching from having to sleep on the floor.

The Cleric looked down into the translucent path of white ice that led to the land. It sparkled under the sunlight of her new homeland. The air was pleasantly cold, and she was more grateful than could be expressed in words, to finally feel the coolness of El Nath after that boat ride, to see the white hills that had become so familiar to her.

The rest of the passengers were either rubbing their eyes sleepily, or checking their maps. "Clynine, stop daydreaming," Lanoré called out, yards away. "We've got to start now if you want to make it back to El Nath in time."

Quickly scolding herself, she followed obediently. They would be riding there, most likely, but yetis were hard to tame, and the nearest yeti farm was at least half an hour's walk from the coast.

Clynine pulled her jacket out of her bag as they walked. Glad that it was a sling bag and not a hand-carried one, she pulled her arms through the fur sleeves and zipped it up. _Home, _she thought. _Finally._

The shape of the yeti farm soon emerged from the rises of snow. But almost as soon as they saw it, they froze. For there was something else there—the rising danger, the small figures of men and women surrounding the building, clothed in black. And the shouts—why were they shouting to one another?

Danger. Tension. Something coming—a looming shadow.

"We need the mounts," Lanoré whispered, turning and brushing her long blonde hair behind her ear. Then they ran on towards their destination, Clynine praying, sensing the cold dread growing in her.

Now she could see them clearly. Their bodies were entirely cloaked in curtains of black cloth, hoods hanging low, as they raised their gazes. Clynine felt Lanoré's body press against hers, and saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye as she lifted her staff in a reflex action.

Slowly, they were coming to surround them. "It is she," they spoke it in unison. The circle was complete, and no one moved.

The staves rose. Red-and-black lightning crackled in their points, filling the air. And it was about to begin.

"_Down_!"

Everything blurred, as Lanoré fell to the snow, pulling Clynine down with her. The Cleric gasped, finding her face buried in ice, the sound of blazing lightning and the touch of burning heat clawing on her skin, so close that she thought she might die from it…

The circle had closed in on them. Their pitch-black robes were fluttering in the sudden gale, almost close enough for every fold to be seen.

She could hear it all. Her heartbeat echoing through her every vein as she lay there upon the frozen ground. She knew what would follow if they were captured. She knew—and she never wanted to experience it.

"M—Mistress…"

"No. They won't kill us. They'll take us to hang—"

She turned and gasped. The snow beside the pair was blown apart, throwing ice everywhere.

All ease was gone from Lanoré's face now. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead, her eyes narrowed. Clynine turned back to the blank snow between her arms, shivering, suddenly dead and hopeless inside.

The air was filled the smell of lightning. It was coming, coming so close…

The second filled with unbearable heat, and Clynine felt her face flush.

Infernally hot, molten, like a furnace's flames through her robes. Yet—no pain, no darkness, only the glow of brilliant blue light from the corner of her eye—

Lanoré's hand suddenly encircled Clynine's own, and her heart stopped as she felt herself being lifted effortlessly off the ground. Knees shaking, her legs almost buckled under her own weight. But Lanoré's hand kept her upright. The mages were frozen to the ground, some unconscious, some struggling to release themselves from the ice that Lanoré had frozen them in. Sudden relief filled her.

Then Clynine looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. More coming in from the east. Her insides clenched even harder, until she felt an urge to vomit.

"Orders from the supervisor!" his shout was raw and angry. "Do not kill them! He wants them alive!" They were looming closer, black cloaks filled with the wind.

Lanoré gave Clynine's hand an urgent pull. "Quick, let's run—"

But to her horror, she couldn't move.

_Clynine! Move!_

Her body refused to obey, though desperation spun around her.

Lanoré was waiting! She _had _to run—

—And yet she couldn't—

_RUN! _Run_, Clynine!_

By the then, it was too late.

A powerful crackle—stunning energy, like fire coursing through her, burnt deeper than her skin, running through her blood like molten iron. Her entire body crumpled with the pain. Fell.

She screamed.

Her head crunched straight into the snow, yet there was no pain. It was numb. Her vision filled with sparks like fireworks, and they did not fade, blinded her to the world. She could hear the thump of her heart, omnipresent, frighteningly irregular.

Another scream. It wasn't hers; it was her mistress'.

Psychedelic circles of light were covering the sky as two rings of coldness clamped down around her wrists, and the sound of jangling chains filled her almost unhearing ears. She wanted to fight out against the powerful hands, but she couldn't move. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Her thrashing died down.

Then, everything vanished, sudden as lightning.

* * *

_telida: two ways_

Telida watched at the blackness of the cave, trying to make out any of the movement within. She leaned against the rough stone again, wiping more sweat away.

_How long is he going to take? _She wondered impatiently, having waited there for hours for Ketara to finish his third job test. Dances with Balrog was watching the cave intently, smiling with so much calm that it made _her _feel nervous.

Again, thoughts of her joining the guild returned. Why, she should have put up more resistance! Why would she give up her independence just like that? It now seemed so idiotic of her, as she thought.

But yet again, it was what she really desired. She couldn't stand living in the Dungeon anymore. She didn't want to stay in shadows for the rest of her life. She sought another lease of life, a chance to live again.

She didn't want to be a killer anymore. She wanted to be something _more_.

And so, with her and her brother, the small guild had finally left the Dungeon the previous winter. Telida had almost forgotten everything about Victoria Island—the only thing she could remember was the king.

_"We cannot live in plain sight of the king any longer. Turino, Telida—though I hate to say this, we must go into hiding, somewhere where even _he _cannot reach us."_

It had been those words that had cast her into a life full of shadows and cruelty.

Dances with Balrog gave a grunt and stood up straight. "Normally, a level seventy would be stuck in there for another half an hour…but he should be out right about now," the chief's voice fought its way through her thoughts.

True to his words, the Spearman's shout suddenly rang through the cave. "Done!" Moments later, out stepped a dirty and wounded Ketara, a small black object in his left hand.

He instantly turned to Telida and smiled, panting slightly from exhaustion. His hair, the colour of ebony, whirled about his shoulders, framing his usual cheerful, charming grin, one that was completely unbefitting of a person who had just finished a killer test.

Inside her, Telida felt something unclench with relief; both at the fact that Ketara had survived, and at the fact that she had some company again. No one else wanted to talk to her, the wild girl of the Dungeon. And Turino? She simply despised that brother of hers.

How strange, that though she had always hated males all her life, she had found it exceedingly easy to befriend Ketara. It alarmed her. He might suddenly decide to turn on her, after acting all nice.

Just like her father had. And her brother.

Dances with Balrog took the object from Ketara's hand. "Well, so…you've made it as well," he said. "Another to reach his third job. That's a commendable feat. Not many make it this far without…—Great job, Ketara."

Telida stepped back. She knew about job advancements already—she had studied from official Thief job skill books. But to see one of these job advancements was something she had never experienced before.

Dances with Balrog, the man who wore strange clothes and a headdress of red feathers, took hold of her friend's face. The two emanated a strange glow. Then Ketara staggered back slightly, blinking.

"In the name of the great Dragon, creator of life, I name you a Dragon Knight."

Immediately after that, the rest, who had been standing around him, came forward to ask him about the test.

"Was tiring," he commented. "I think I worked my hand off!"

"Well, it's still there," Telida said, thinking now about job advancements. Why did the king forbid it? Obviously, learning all these skills would accord power of some kind to the learner. If she could get a job…then she could…

"I want to take job advancement tests," Turino suddenly said, beating her to her own words.

Telida forced down the stir of annoyance. "So do I," she added. Then her eyes widened, and she turned to her brother, something completely random tugging urgently at her mind. "_Father's stone! _We…we forgot it!"

Turino's visible eye blinked, the other hidden by locks of raven hair. "You mean you forgot it?!" he exclaimed, panicking for the first time she had seen. His voice had become a groan of anger and tiredness. "_Great! _Now, because of _you, _we've got to go back _all the way…_"

"Alright, alright—we'll go back," Ralinn quickly replied. Still annoyed and tired at the prospect, Telida decided to keep her mouth shut. She sometimes said stupid things when she was angry.

"Great, so I've planned it," Ralinn broke in, gathering everyone together. "You listen as well, Turino." Telida rolled her eyes at her brother, who still stood a short distance away from everyone else. Reluctantly, he shifted over.

"You go to Ellinia with someone to take your job test," the guild leader instructed. "The rest of us will go to Kerning for Telida's job. We'll go through Sleepywood to get your stone, and join you in Ellinia. So—a hundred and eighty days from now, we will meet in Ellinia, western entrance." The plan sounded clear and practical enough for Telida.

"Who's going with me?" Turino looked about at the rest, eyes narrowed.

"Wouldn't mind," Raydan put in, stepping forward.

Zethis raised his hand warily, as if he were in a classroom. "Could I…go as well?" he requested. His sister nodded.

"So it's set," she continued. "Shall we depart, after washing up?"

Everyone more or less agreed, nodding. "Have a nice time, then," Ralinn said. "Stay away from the police patrols, alright?"

They returned to their inn somewhere lower down the mountain, where all of them got cleaned up. Finally, clean and refreshed, they gathered at the doorway with their bags, potions fully stocked up.

"Come on, Telida and Ketara," Ralinn said, turning to face the afternoon sun. She gave her brother a single wave. Then, without another instant, the other group departed in the opposite direction.

Telida turned and found that both Ralinn and Ketara were already walking away over the Perion streets. "Wait for me!" she yelled, panicking a little that they might really leave her behind.

Ketara stopped and turned around, smiling brightly. "Hurry, then!" he replied, already two tents away. Telida looked wonderingly about at the tents, still unable to get enough of this amazing city. The long journey daunted her—_six months!—_but she knew that it would all be worth it in the end.

_Oh, I'll catch up with you! _She thought to herself, seeing that they had gone even further already. She ran after quickly, smiling at the touch of the mountain cool, feeling as if she were the wind itself.

_I'll catch up! Without fail!_

_

* * *

_

_akera: the new order_

"Um—Akera—you should get your hair dyed again," Shirion said as they sat in the dark arms of a tree's roots, in the middle of Ellinia's bottom levels, the air of late afternoon encompassing them.

Akera's hands flew to her hair in alarm. "The stuff's wearing off," she muttered, running her fingers through her hair.

She had dyed her hair to disguise herself, having been on the run for a while, before she had been captured and taken to work at the Ellinia Station. The person who had sold it had said that it would last eight years. She had thought she would no longer need it by then.

On the way back to the inn, they came to the town notice board. Shirion froze, reading something. There, pinned in the middle, was a neat, new notice that bore neatly printed black words.

He turned back. "Akera. You should read this."

Alarmed, she ran to the board covered in sheets of paper, skimming over the notice.

"NOTICE: An order of necromancer guards has been instated in every city, to ensure speed in dealing out of sentences."

Akera shivered. Necromancers. Followers of the dark arts. If those were allowed to enforce the law in all the cities, then…

"Any person found to commit any of the following offences will be killed immediately: having a job, seeking to get a job, having weapons in possession, having any gold or precious stones in possession, being within barricaded territory, owning a house while in possession of any children…"

The list went on and on. Akera simply turned away from it, searching Shirion's face for some sign of reassurance.

"We'll just have to be a lot more quiet when we move," he said, not turning from the notice. "It's no longer slavery for us. We'll die _instantly, _if they find us."

The journey carried on as deep into the forest as they could possibly go. "We're still going to get my hair dyed?" Akera asked incredulously.

"I'm used to seeing you with white hair," he replied. "I wouldn't be able to take it if you had…light brown hair all of a sudden."

"It's not _white, _it's silver!" she insisted, somewhat annoyed. "But yeah, I wouldn't be used to it either."

So they carried on through the trunks until they arrived at the edge of Ellinia, standing at a deserted section of the city that no one ever visited—the cemeteries. Akera could almost feel the melancholy air about the place, and it made her sigh.

Shirion found them a secluded path up to the hair saloon—the branches were still strong, though a little widely-spaced. Around them was an entire citadel of houses, all of the same design—blue-roofed round houses, walls woven around by vines. It was all the same as it had been, almost eight years ago, when she had come here for her first job.

But it was so silent and empty. Only guards walked the tree branch-streets, the leaves trodden down by their heavy footsteps. The doors were chained, the leaves growing in wild curtains over the windows. Within them, no lights burned in the early evening, as they would have before. There was no sound. They were all gone.

The saloon was seated among a few thick clumps of leaves, glass door and displays hidden by leaves. Streaks of slanted sunlight dappled the wooden door.

A normal person passing it by would probably pass it off as an old abandoned house. Pushing the hanging leaves aside, they opened the door, bells jangling on the doorknob. They stepped onto the red-and white-tiled floor and strolled over to the counter.

The woman there was middle-aged, wavy red-dyed hair held in a short ponytail. She smiled briefly and held out her lists of services, as she had every time they had come.

"I would like my hair dyed white," Akera said briskly.

The hairdresser soon had Akera in a chair, a cold piece of white cloth draped about her neck and shoulders. As she carried out the procedure of dying her hair white, she found herself meditating, trying to clear her mind of worry.

The idea suddenly ran through her head. What if they could somehow kill the king?

She quickly scolded herself mentally for even considering it possible. Someone else _must _have thought of doing that already, over these ten long years. Not one of them had succeeded, obviously. What chances did _she _have?

Her mind drifted back to her conversation with Lanoré, almost half a year ago, in the dining room of a hidden inn. She, too, had wanted to do it.

Akera cursed, making the hairdresser jump. She could have asked to join Lanoré. They, together, might stand a chance—if not alone. They might just be able to save Victoria Island—

Again, she scolded herself, this time for thinking too highly of herself. If anyone could do it alone, it was Lanoré. And besides, she already had her own assistant.

But just considering it, saving Victoria Island, and having part of it credited to herself…wasn't it something she desired, more than anything else?

"Miss? It's done," the hairdresser's high voice awakened her from her musings. Sitting up straight, she sighed, a long sigh that seemed to release all that she had thought over for the past twenty minutes.

Akera caught a glance of herself in the mirror and smiled slightly at the result—good as new. Before that, light brown had been visible at the roots of her hairs.

Light brown hair? She had had dyed hair for so long that she could no longer remember how it was like to have such a mundane colour for hair.

"So, happy about it?" Shirion questioned her. Getting up, she nodded while he paid for the service, despite her insistence to do it herself. Akera went to the door and swung it open, bells jangling on the doorknob.

She stopped.

Black robes. Everywhere. Lining every visible branch-pathway in sight outside the saloon.

_No. Oh, no._

The Ice Lightning Mage heard Shirion gasp behind her.

"_How did they know?" _she whispered. Each necromancer had eyes trained on the two of them. Akera turned back. The hairdresser was holding a cell phone, guilt written on her face. She quickly ran to the back of the saloon and slammed the door shut.

"Well?" Shirion's voice was empty. She could feel her own heart thumping in her constricted throat as her eyes darted about, searching for a way out.

Then she saw it. "The only way is down."

Their black-sleeved arms suddenly rose, staves of fierce violet Lithium going into the air around them.

"Are you crazy?" Shirion sounded completely disbelieving.

The crackle of lightning, lightning of a different kind. The staves, gems as sharp as blades, shining with an ominous red light.

"Yeah. I mean it."

Stupid, desperate bravery suddenly seemed to take control of her. Akera could feel blood rush into her face as she leapt away from the beams of red lightning, onto the parapet of the hair saloon, to the right of the door. The flaming beams burst on the front steps of the saloon, Shirion still standing at the doorway. He gave a shout and stumbled away from the blackened steps.

"_Get here!" _Akera screamed. _"Get here NOW!"_

A second burst of red lightning surged forth. The Crusader leapt to the parapet on the other side of the door, moments before the attack hit, burning the stairs away. His face was pale.

"Down, Shirion! We must go _down_!"

The necromancers' staves were up in an instant. Panting, dizzy, Akera prayed that Shirion had understood her command. It was now or never.

They would certainly die in the next five seconds. It was coming.

They had to jump.

_We'll be safe. Please. We will survive to see another day._

Her heartbeat seemed to be timing the seconds till they fired. She could smell the lightning in the air, burning ever closer, ready to claim them both.

_Now, or never._

It was coming.

And she let everything go.

An explosion of burning red shook the treetops, engulfing the branches in flame and smoke. Akera and Shirion leapt off the parapet and hurtled down towards the Ellinian forest floor. Through emerald canopies filled with sunlight and birdsong, falling, falling, as they sent their silent screaming pleas to the Goddess.

* * *

_lanoré: days in the darkness_

Lanoré sat under the shadows cast by the flickering torches, shivering in her plain white cotton dress, dirt-streaked, as the cold El Nath winds filled the cavernous prison of the Dead Mines.

How long had they been here? She looked up at Clynine, as the girl bit from a stiff piece of bread, from the tray that had been brought by a guard. She was haggard, her own dress dirtier than Lanoré's own, for the Cleric had struggled so much more than she had.

Lanoré had learnt not to struggle. A single stunning spell from the necromancers was all it would take to immobilize them and knock them out for a few hours.

Even as she sat there and watched the wavering torchlight, she could see those last moments, feel the intensity of it all against her skin—shouts and spell chants, violet staff gems pointed at them, shining bright red. Her assistant's arm held tightly in her left hand, the girl trembling with fear.

Lanoré could blame Clynine for everything that had happened. It hadbeen because of her that they hadn't escaped. But it wasn't right. She glanced repeatedly at the forlorn Cleric, who was trying to finish her dry bread with a few sips of water.

If _she _had been more reliable, stronger, faster, they wouldn't be in this situation. It was her fault too. If she, Lanoré, had lived up to her assistant's expectations, the two of them wouldn't have to be spending the rest of their lives in prison._ I've survived for so many years—and suddenly, I had to let my guard down. While Clynine was with me. _Her mistake had cost them everything.

Her stomach ached from hunger that clawed at her. The air was cold, and she was shivering again. Just thinking about it—living here for the rest of her life—it made icy submission descend upon her.

It had been three weeks since they had come. They had started off struggling violently against being locked up, but another stunning spell had seen to it that they didn't maintain that attitude. From then, they had never made another sound, had never disagreed again.

Everyday, they had been forced to work in the mines, hacking away at the walls to uncover the ores hidden deep within them. The mines were cold, and they had no more than plain, threadbare dresses to work with. When they fell from exhaustion, there were no healers to heal their scraped knees and arms. She had grazed her leg on a sharp stone and bled, and the wound hurt till now. But the merciless guards had made her work harder.

And she worked with empty diligence, fearful for the jolts of electricity that the guards were capable of giving.

It was constantly terrifying, nerve-wracking. Some guards gave surprise jolts when they felt like it, just for the fun of seeing prisoners in pain. Lanoré recalled the shock of her first jolt, the way it had made her body spasm excruciatingly, beyond her control. From then, she had worked ten times harder, out of sheer terror.

_How funny that now, I am submitting so easily to those I once despised and opposed. _But it wasn't her choice to make anymore. Here, they had total dominion over their prisoners. She could either work, or suffer intolerably.

Slowly, regretful and submitted, the Ice Lightning Archmage looked up at Clynine. She was glaring straight at her, dark anger casting shadows over her eyes. There were tears there. Feeling something cut sharply into her heart when she saw her expression, she looked down and tried not to shed any tears.

_You're right to feel so, Clynine. I should have done a better job, and kept you out of this life. I was the one they wanted. You need not have been implicated. And yet, you were so faithful._

_I'm so sorry._

This time, the tears really _did _come. And she didn't make an effort to stem their flow, or wipe them away. She couldn't bear the guilt it brought, to know what she had done to a bright young life. Wasted it. Brought it to an unfitting end. It was like cutting a flower bud from its stem, before it had even bloomed.

The ring of spear ends on the dark ground marked the arrival of guards.

"Mining shift," he growled in a guttural voice. A few guards walked over—one came to stand before her gate, unlocking it. Lanoré couldn't escape; her arms were chained to the ground. Sneering at her, the bearded guard spat at her feet where she sat.

She maintained her calm and gazed up at him. He broke away from her stare and unlocked her arms, before clamping heavy manacles on her wrists, freezing cold. Defiantly, she glared at him, though she knew better than to shout at him. Disregarding her expression, the guard led her out, pushing her to the back of the long line of prisoners.

Clynine glanced back at her, eyes apologetic now. Lanoré closed her eyes to ward off the terrible guilt that suddenly flooded in.

They were marched towards the mining shafts. Head bowed, Lanoré followed.

All the while, her thoughts never quietened. _I will gain us another chance, _she thought, believing her own words, no matter how unlikely they sounded to her. _I'll start my life over, and I won't make the same mistake._

_

* * *

_

_clynine: a door opens_

The mine was filled with hammering and thunks of metal against rock, as the prisoners, feet chained to large metal balls, worked to free the precious ores from the walls of the mines.

Clynine looked up at her part of the wall, the grey stone pockmarked with the impacts that previous prisoners had made. Who knew, the ones who had made them could be dead by now. About ten people died in the prison everyday. But for every ten that died, twenty were brought in and locked up, and the population of the Dead Mines never shrank.

She turned to gaze towards the deeper parts of the Dead Mines, where the warm blaze of fire was just visible on the uneven ceiling of the shaft, which led down into another depth, towards a hundred more corridors just like this one.

The rules had been clear. No prisoners were to go further than the mine assigned, for beneath the main shaft that connected the mines resided Zakum, the greatest monster of Ossyria—a furious stone creature that had been entrapped beneath the ground for centuries. Approaching it would be certain death, for its uncontained rage would burn to ashes anyone who came in moments.

The prison didn't want to lose people unnecessarily to Zakum, so strict rules had been placed that no one was to go close to that forbidden place.

But she had heard rumours, among the prisoners, about another reason for the rule. And it was possible too. There was an exit from the prison directly behind Zakum's Altar. A straight exit into El Nath, and freedom, above.

Not that anyone would risk certain death just to escape, anyway.

Turning away from the shaft, Clynine abandoned her wishful thoughts and lifted the pickaxe with both arms. It wasn't like her staff; it was thrice as heavy, its end tipped by a sharp and deadly hammerhead.

Biting her lip, Clynine gave it a swing over her shoulder, and flung one of its points into the wall. The stone cracked a little, and a shower of grey dirt fell out. For moments, she felt pleased. She raised it again to give it another swing. Another bit of rock cracked away.

Beside her, a prisoner suddenly sank to the ground, his pickaxe clanging alarmingly loudly on the rocks. His ribs showed prominently through his dirty clothes, his eyes rolled upwards, his pale skin darkened with streaks of dirt. She guessed that he had been in this prison for a few weeks already—in that amount of time, one would starve to the extent he had.

He was trying to form words with his pale, cracked lips, eyes rolling about rapidly, like a madman's.

"W—We…will—the end…"

Clynine shuddered. That was what was going to happen to her, in a few weeks time. Her life—the bright life that had been delivered to her without charge—would end, just like that.

The Cleric heard footsteps just as she got ready to swing a third time. The back of her neck tingled with nervousness, her heart suddenly racing in her chest, triggered by the closeness of the guard's furious presence. She almost let the pickaxe slip from her grip as the man approached, his heavy footsteps driving anxiety deeper into her heart.

"You!" She almost fainted as he bellowed the monosyllabic word, his pronunciation explosive, directly behind her. She glanced back. Relief, then guilt flooded through her when she saw that he was glaring at the man who had collapsed beside her. The guard's eyes were wide and bloodshot, his bronze armour gleaming under the dim torches, the only light in the mine. The prisoner's eyes, too, were wide, but they were terrified and desperate.

With repeated cracks of his wooden rod, the guard flogged him. "Stand!" Spit rained from between his lips and his yellowed teeth.

_"We…"_ The word was hardly even audible. He wouldn't stand. Words continued to issue incoherently from his mouth as he struggled to gather up enough energy to complete his sentence, foam and saliva slowly rising between his lips.

The guard kicked him with a snarl. The prisoner hadn't even the strength to cringe. He just stared on, and beyond the blankness, there was blazing defiance in his eyes. Clynine cringed for him.

His face convulsed for a few moments. And at last, the words came out, clear and with conviction.

"We will destroy you and your filth in the end, King Caleix. We will prevail. The world was always meant to be free."

The words echoed in Clynine's memory long after he had finished. The prisoner collapsed, his head striking the rock with a thud before the guard, and his eyes closed. His chest no longer rose and fell.

"Idiot," the burly guard muttered, kicking the dead body around a few more times, before commanding another prisoner to carry him away.

Clynine turned and swung the pickaxe. She wanted to believe it, what the prisoner had uttered in his last moments. She wanted to believe that the king would be overthrown one day! But it had been fifteen years since the new laws had begun to be passed, and the new order had begun. Fifteen years! In that amount of time, surely, someone would have done something about it? No one had. The king had planned it all out too well.

Behind her, another prisoner began to cough violently, just as a powerful draught whipped down the mine, from the main shaft. She struck the wall again, this stroke a little weaker.

They were walking a definite path to death. They would all die, one by one. Soon, she would go down that path as well. And so would Lanoré, and all those she now saw.

By the end of their tiring three hours of work, Clynine's entire body was aching from the strenuous work they had done. Now every movement she made felt like fire in her body.

The nineteenth night of their imprisonment fell upon the Dead Mines. Three weeks? Clynine felt as if she had been here for three months. Her evening meal was delivered through the thin gap beneath the gate, and she ravenously wolfed down everything on her tray, arms still restrained by the chains on her wrists.

Just a week ago, she had taken great pains to eat in a neat, civilized manner. Now it hardly mattered to her. At least she remembered to wash her hands with a few drops of her water before eating. The hunger in her stomach was burning, and she hadn't even had a chance to think of being "civilized".

With the night came the cold. Clynine, her usual cold-susceptible self, caught a bad chill soon after her dinner, and along with the gnawing hunger and severe aches, she felt weak and expired. Leaning back against the hard wall, she dozed off almost instantly, despite how uncomfortable it was.

"…It. I can't stand it. We're losing prisoners by the dozen everyday."

Clynine awakened from the haze of sleep. It was the dead of night. There were whispers of conversation nearby—whispers that she could make out clearly.

"It's time you got a healer for this prison," one man muttered.

"Yes? And how do you expect me to find one who will work willingly without pay? In a _prison?_"

Clynine stood wearily in her cell and leaned against the cold bars of the gate, which were burningly cold on her cheek.

"Maybe a prisoner would like to do it. They'd do _anything _to be allowed around, I tell you."

"And _which_ prisoner would be able heal?"

Heart suddenly thumping, the Cleric banged her chained fists on the gate. It rattled with a metallic clanging, and at the sound, both men fell silent.

"Some restless prisoner," the less authoritative-sounding of the two muttered, and their echoing footsteps and jangling of keys began to come closer. The circle of yellow light cast by the candle drew her eye, and she crossed her fingers.

"Which of you is it?" called the guard, his stern face showing clearly under the candlelight. The other man looked tired and bothered, wearing the uniform of someone higher-ranking. Clynine felt the exhilarated nervousness course through her body. Now was their chance to escape, at last—a daring step towards possible freedom.

"I can be your healer," she whispered urgently as they came nearer. Both stared down at her, and she knew how she appeared to them—a scrawny, dirty fourteen-year-old girl who could hardly stand without support from the gate. Swallowing hard, she repeated her request to the two stern men. "I will be your healer. For no charge. I know how to heal—please give me a chance!"

The two men glanced at each other in the midst of the darkness. She crossed her fingers behind her back. _Please. Please agree…_

"We'll see about it," the more superior of the two immediately said, without smiling, but there was hope in his eyes all the same. "Demias, unlock her. We need a healer badly, if we want the mining to be up to speed." Reluctantly, he took the keys from his belt and searched for the right one. Clynine felt her heart fill up, but she took care to hide it.

Meanwhile, the superior questioned her. "Do you have experience?" he inquired. She nodded fervently, explaining that she had a healing job before being imprisoned. Then the key clicked in the lock.

The instant it swung open, and she found herself free from the cell, Clynine suddenly felt the burning urge to run past them to her freedom. But she restrained herself, sure that she didn't have the strength to outrun them. It was what Lanoré would tell her to do. Wait. Strike in the ripest time.

She would bide her time. The right time would come. And then, she would make her move. And that would be the moment they took back all that they had lost.

Smiling to herself, she followed the two men towards the offices, enjoying the slight freedom she had finally been granted—enjoying, even more, the prospect of what was suddenly possible, now that she was out of the cell.

* * *

_telida: comfort_

From the moment they had departed from Perion for her job advancement, Telida had expected the journey to be a silent, dreary trip. She had expected long hours of walking, without conversation, without interaction.

But as Telida had slowly come to realise, it would be nothing like that at all.

The journeying itself was tiring. They started early in the morning, after quick breakfast in the darkness. From then, they would journey in the shadow of the valley, away from the eyes of the guards, and from the burning summer sun of Perion. Lunch was usually earned by some hunting, and they would eat in caves.

The nights were enchanting. As they journeyed through the starlight, or sometimes through emptiness on cloudy days, she could hear every sound—the rivers, the calls of the nighttime animals in Perion, and the swoops of birds and bats through the silent sky.

All the while, as they walked, she took the time to get to know the other two more. Ketara had readily made conversation with her, which she was glad for. Slowly, she had learnt about him.

How insecure he really was! It was so incredibly adorable of him. The spearman had always been hiding this darker side of himself—the side that always worried about the meaning of his life. His outgoing, cheerful attitude towards others had developed as an attempt to ward off such thoughts, he had explained.

But what was she doing, placing so much trust in a _male_? In her life, they had all been cruel and intolerably proud. How was she to know if Ketara wasn't like that either? Telida's impressions of him kept wavering between the two extremes.

But why shouldn't she trust him, when he had trusted _her _with his deepest secrets?

"There! See it? On the horizon," Ralinn's call was full of excitement. Telida looked up and saw the smudge of black in the distance, just visible through the mountain mist, nestled between a mountain and a vast forest. She smiled slightly.

It was Ralinn's hometown. Over the long journey, she had learnt of the guild leader's past too, and had come to know when she was thinking about something close to her heart. Her home was one of these things.

Even now, Telida could see the smile in her eyes. "Let's go," the Ranger said, starting their journey down the slope, through the sweet morning air. Ketara went after that, and the thief-to-be followed behind him. They were finally approaching the paramount of their journey—her job advancement. At the thought, Telida felt her heart flutter, both with unfamiliar nerves and with ecstasy.

But that, at that point, wasn't the thing that made her feel the gladdest. It was this: at last, after years on end, she was making friends. She wasn't a murderess anymore, not a rogue, a vagabond—just a girl on a journey with her friends. She felt like a bird that had been freed from its cage, full of shadows. She could almost have been flying.

They raced as fast as they could into the valley, away from the main road. As day faded into night, they finally reached the entrance of Kerning City—a barricaded tar road that led on into a towering metropolis. Spires and blocks of silver-grey were silhouetted against a glorious sunset sky, a heavenly light that lit the clouds, almost as if they were ablaze.

Ralinn quickly found her way back home. As she reached the door and knocked, she heard a replying shout and sighed in relief. As they waited, Telida observed the abode. The house, situated in a small neighbourhood between two skyscrapers, shone in the light of sunset, lavender and violet and rose.

"I really miss this place," Ralinn commented, looking at the sky. "Raydan probably really does to. He just didn't want to show it in front of us." She shook her head. "Just like him to do that."

"All guys are like that, aren't they?" she replied, quickly glancing in Ketara's direction. "I mean—even Rino. He never wants to admit to any of his weaknesses. I know that he wants to have a proper home too, and he misses our parents—"

_Our parents…it's all the king's fault…_

"They aren't too different then, are they? You always tell me that you want a brother like mine, but isn't your brother just the same?"

"Except that mine _never _jokes," Telida commented. "And never admits to his mistakes."

"You really don't know Raydan, do you?" the guild leader laughed, a joyful, genuine laugh that Telida would never learn. She just smiled. "He gets under my skin all the time. I bet _you _don't have to wake your brother up in the morning!"

It felt so good. Just being able to make conversation with another without intimidating him or her. Just being _herself._

Even now, as she stood there and watched the twilight purple sky fade away, she could feel the winds turning, carrying her life towards a better age. And she thanked the Clock Spirit, master of fate, for leading her to Orion's Belt.

* * *

_ketara: insecurity_

What was this strange insecurity he felt? As he watched the two girls conversing at the doorstep, almost as close as sisters now, Ketara felt this strange out-of-place-ness, this nagging, terrible demon that told him in a whispering, mocking voice, _"You don't belong with them. You don't belong among normal people."_

But what was it? It wasn't jealousy. He didn't mind Telida and Ralinn befriending each other—in fact, he was glad for it. At last, Telida was starting to warm up to another besides him. It had been a barrier she had taken so long to break, and finally, she had.

And in return for the devoted friendship she had offered to him, Ketara had told her one of _his _deepest secrets. That other side of his life, the everlasting question that would follow him everywhere.

_What am I?_

Why was it that the only thing he could remember from his past was a woman, with hair the colour of mage's lightning and eyes filled with blood? Why were there no proper memories, no places that he could draw back from his past, no feelings of warmth and security?

He didn't have a real past. There was only that single explanation for it—he wasn't really a human. He had been artificially created; everything in him had been implanted into him. His skin, his hair, his heartbeat—they were all false. He wasn't a human. He was a failed experiment.

_Failed experiment. _The words brought him hurt. _Unwanted. Unneeded._

It was the reason he had been thrown out into the forest as a toddler, and left to die. He was just an experiment, shaped like a human, now trying to live among _real _humans, as one of their kind. All throughout the journey, this knowledge had suddenly begun to grown heavier, this weight on his heart that slowly chasing the joy out of him.

_I don't belong here._

Ralinn was laughing. Telida folded her arms in embarrassment, turning. As Ketara watched those expressions under the sunset, he felt himself pull back further, further from the world and from everyone else. The _real _humans. Who cared if Telida was a murderess from the Dungeon? She was real. The emotions she felt were real. Not built-in emotions like his own.

_How can they live with some_thing _like me?_

It all felt so strange, thinking about himself like that. Why, if he was artificial, did he feel joy and sadness, like everyone else? Which part of him had failed, and warranted his abandonment? He looked down at himself, at the dirty clothes and armour that he wore. He felt the familiar weight of the spear on his shoulder. All these things—he had been _made_ to sense them. Was there anything wrong with how he was functioning? Then to what purpose had he been made?

"Come in already," Telida said with annoyance, this strange dark anger in her eyes, though she had been smiling to him just minutes ago. She kept changing around him, between friendliness and hostility.

_I know there's something about me that you don't like, Telida. What is it? Is it _that? _Should I have told you?_

He entered anyway, closing the door after Telida, trying to push everything away. Standing at the doorway, he observed the scene before him. Around the table, five plates had been set—one for everyone present. Ralinn's parents looked at him and smiled instantly. He forced himself to return the smile.

Her mother turned to him and paused. "You're—very handsome," she commented, walking up to him and observing his face with her brown eyes. "Cute guy—I've never seen anyone like you before!"

Ketara looked down with an embarrassed smile. He had yet to get used to the comment, though he heard it far too often.

He leaned his travel-worn leather boots against the wall, and laid down his Holy Spear on the weapon rack, among the bows. The smell of fried octopus—one of his favourite foods—drew him towards the dining room, and he quickly ran over, his stomach growling.

The instant he sat down, he dug an octopus out of the plate and ate it whole. At the opposite side of the table, Ralinn slapped her forehead while her mother tried not to laugh. Telida smiled slightly.

"Oh—great food!" he exclaimed with a full mouth. Seeing that they were still staring at him, he swallowed. "Hm? What is it?"

The guild leader groaned. "Manners," she sighed. Finally her mother burst into laughter, seeming almost too youthful to be a mother.

"Don't make him eat like a girl," Ralinn's father replied. Telida was visibly upset by this comment. Ketara watched, smiling despite imself.

_Thank you, _he suddenly thought, glancing around at the people round the table. _Thank you for making me feel welcome._

No one responded. As if they could actually hear what he was thinking. But all the same, he felt the warmth grow, somehow bringing him a little more comfort. He felt like he belonged now.

_Well…whatever I am, I hope it doesn't change how things are. I want to help everyone around me, to make them smile. I don't want _my_ doubt to get _them _down._

Quickly, he put down his fork and started over, even remembering to greet Ralinn's mother first. The rest smiled and laughed at him, as the gentle yellow light from the candles seemed to grow brighter and warmer.

_In the end, it doesn't matter what I am. All I know is that this is what I want. _

_I want everyone to be happy._

_

* * *

_

_turino: reasons_

_Finally!_

Turino looked past the crest of the mountain, and what he saw made him smile. The lush leaves of a forest greeted his vision, blurred by the mountain mist, the treetops of their destination. And he felt total, cooling relief wash over him at the blessed sight.

Finally!

He was sick of putting up with his two travel companions—Zethis, who talked in his sleep, and Raydan, who always insisted on arguing with him about _everything_. He was _sick, _sick of hearing their childish conversation every minute of every waking moment, right from the break of dawn, to the moment they fell asleep. And even then, they wouldn't _shut up_.

"Cool! It's Ellinia!" Raydan raced to the edge of the mountaintop and pointed at the emerald canopies of the forest, leaping about in excitement—behaviour unbefitting of a sixteen-year-old. Zethis followed after, and as he saw the treetops, he, too, smiled.

Turino was glad as well. But he wouldn't show it. One of his personal rules was never to show that he was happy, whenever he was. It was a sign of weakness.

_Remind me why I joined this guild again, _he thought to himself, mind going back to the day, the moment he had been invited.

_The king. _The moment that man had been mentioned, Turino had felt an inexplicable surge of anger. Messages had suddenly begun to stream into his mind, just like that, though he didn't know what their source was.

_He is the reason we now kill to live. He is the reason we will never go out into the sun again. He is the reason we were driven into the shadows, the reason our parents died. _

_He must be eliminated._

And so that righteous lust for vindication had made him agree, there and then. It had all seemed right, at that moment in time. It was something he had longed to do so many years.

But now, as he watched Zethis and Raydan while they chattered on childishly about reaching Ellinia, he felt as if Orion's Belt was reducing his intelligence by the minute.

Raydan turned to him and frowned. "Please don't dampen the mood of this moment, Mister _I-always-have-to-dampen-the-mood_," he said with a hint of warning. Turino didn't care. Raydan, _Raydan _was always like that—always had been since the start of the journey. Disagreeable. How could Ralinn put up with him? He'd _die _with a sibling like that.

_I'm lucky. Telida is..._

_Telida is so much more bearable._

Unexpectedly, he found all his thoughts turning to Telida. Was she doing fine? Was she happy? Happier than he was, at least?

Suddenly he stopped himself. _Why? _Turino thought angrily, shaking his head. He didn't need to be concerned with her.

_Why should I care about her, when she doesn't _want _my care?_

But the thought had inevitable opened a door in his memory, and once his mind began down that path, it wouldn't stop. And he was suddenly recalling, wishing he wouldn't, but unable to help it, all the same.

_It is a waste of emotion to love someone. Your love and care will never be returned. _She _didn't return it. She threw it aside, just like that._

"Hey, we'll go first to get water, okay?" Raydan's voice cut sharply through his thoughts like a knife. Somehow, Turino was thankful for it. He nodded blankly and handed him the bottle, suddenly unable to find a reason to be angry. Something else was stirring again, at the back of his mind, gradually dragging him in.

_It is a waste to care about those around you. What does it gain you? Pain. Suffering. Nothing of good consequence at all. Why waste all your strength, to love another?_

Turino watched as Raydan and Zethis ran away down the mountain slopes like two little kids, towards the river to refill their bottles. Slowing down, he sat down on a conveniently-placed rock, looking up through the mist at the sky, clear after a short shower of rain.

He didn't mind remembering now. He always pushed the memories aside when they came to him out of the blue; they had been no more than pesky flies to him then. But now, he felt like it was time to face them, deal with them. It was time to find out how he really felt, under all that anger and pain and confusion.

And so he did. He let them come, and they began to flow into his mental vision—memories full of bitterness, clear as the day they had happened, seven years ago.

_She was facing a huge green monster in the clearing. Her arms were bruised, leaves and twigs in her hair, dirt smeared on her face. Her hair was dishevelled, her clothes torn at parts. Her shaking hand grasped a pair of throwing stars, and he could clearly see that she was panting hard._

_The monster was almost unscathed, aside for a few scars beneath its bright, lucid yellow eyes. It wasn't tired at all._

_Without having to watch, he knew who would lose. And he wouldn't like the outcome. He had _told _her not to face any of these monsters alone! Now she wouldn't be able to get out of it._

_A throwing star blazed with blood-red light; the creature received another gash in its huge green face. But it retaliated with a head-on tackle, and with a massive boom, she was thrown to the ground, buried under the weight of the monster._

_"Lida!" Without another second, he ran forward, his wooden staff rising in his right hand. "Magic Claw!" Streaks of blue light tore down across the monster's face, and left three burns behind, across its mouth. His sister had slipped out from under the creature, and now she was facing him._

_"Rino! What are you doing here! Get out of the way!"_

_"But you can't handle this thing alone!"_

_She growled and stepped back, folding her arms. Then she smirked. "Well, then, since you're so _good_, why don't you battle it yourself?"_

_"Lida! You know I can't do it alone," he groaned. The creature leapt up and landed with a crash on the ground. He was thrown back. His sister was too far to feel the effects._

_He whirled around, and attack after attack flew from his staff at the green creature. It reciprocated each blow tenfold, each time throwing him against trees, knocking him to the ground, bruising and scraping him all over. Still he called out the spells, fought the pain and attacked the monster with everything in every fibre of his body._

_He could feel his energy draining rapidly, and yet he wouldn't stop. The thought of his sister kept him going against his limits, the aching need to make sure that nothing befell her._

_His throat was burning, sweat running down his neck and back, dampening his clothes. He felt as if he couldn't make another move, and he threw his sister a pleading glance, a glance that was full of his burning desperation. His knees threatened to let him fall, suddenly untrustworthy at the most crucial moment._

_"Lida! I need your help_—_"_

_"Help yourself, Turino."_

_It was flying at him again, its full mass threatening to knock the consciousness out of him. He knew that if he didn't do something, his life would suddenly been torn from his grip, slip through weak fingers._

Lida, _he thought, heart slowly filling with painful need. She had to be safe. He knew that he would never let her fall._

_"MAGIC CLAW!" He threw all his remaining strength into the spell, into the cry. The blue light was sharp; it ripped the monster's face, and translucent slime began to ooze from the gashes, slowly shrinking the monster. He staggered back, the fire of battle suddenly fading from his heart and mind, leaving him void._

_"Lida. I told you not to fight it alone."_

_"What? I could have managed! You didn't have to butt in, like you did." Her dark eyes were full of hurt, burning with mad anger, sparkling with tears. Dark, obsidian eyes that they both shared. _

_He drew back, afraid._

_"But I didn't want you to_—_"_

_"To get hurt? You make me out to be such a baby! Can you stop it?"_

_Suddenly, she winced, hand flying to a large bleeding wound on her forehead. Blood ran down the side of her face like rivulets of red sweat. He ran forward, reaching for the wound. "How, Lida_—_I shouldn't have… I should have kept you safe…"_

_"I told you to stop it! I don't need _you _to keep me safe, okay? Just go away!" she screamed, pushing his hand off and turning away._

_He stood there, gazing at the blood on his left hand. Her blood. Their shared blood. How could he have allowed her to get injured like that? It hurt him, to see her in pain. But—_

_"I said _GO AWAY_!"_

_And all of a sudden, he felt her grip twist his hand, something metallic tearing deep into his right arm. He gave a strained cry and stepped back, grabbing his arm and biting his lip._

_Her blood mingled with his. His arm throbbed with the pain as he restrained his cry again, his head spinning with the rawness of everything that was happening._

_She shot him a glare and turned away._

_His hand was wet with redness. _

_She strode away without another word, back vanishing among the trees. A sudden wave of blackness made him fall backwards upon the roots, among the dead, fallen leaves from the trees above. The pain never ceased, and tears were suddenly rising to his eyes, against his will, to his horror._

_She had always been prone to doing stupid things when she was angry, he had always known. Lately, she had been shouting at him a lot, even hitting him. _

_But...never this. Never before had she cut him with a dagger._

_When had she changed? Why had she changed?_

Telida! _Why, Telida?!_

_For so long, he had given her all his care, poured all his love and devotion upon her, thinking that she had wanted it. Watched over every step. Kept her safe all her life! But did she care that he had done so much for her? Had there been any point in it all?_

_Now he knew._

_Her eyes burned into his vision—dark, passionate eyes full of shadows and pain. Tear-stained eyes..._

_Then something broke in his heart, shattered into irretrievable pieces._

_"TELIDA_!_"_

_His shout of anguish echoed through the forest. Somewhere, snakes slithered in spirals up the trees, and animals sped into hiding. The leaves rustled. Everything was then silent and cold around him._

_He threw himself down and let himself cry all his pain out, cry until he couldn't feel any more inside of him. He cried like a child, shouted for all that hurt him. It was too painful, knowing how someone he loved had harmed him like that. He cried, for love and for pain._

_Sobbing hard, he sat up, shaking, angry. He closed his eyes, cast out whatever he had ever had for his sister. _

_It was time for it all to end._

If she wants to be challenged, that is what I will give her!

_He would compete with her for everything now. He would be her opponent, her enemy. How much had he done for her? What had he received in reply? She had taught him that it was pointless to love. _

_He would never love her again. From now onwards, they would be no more than rivals._

It suddenly ended there. Turino was gazing up at the sky again, and the clouds were blurred. Blinking, he suddenly felt tears fall from eyes, onto his hands—tears of unresolved pain. More trickled down from his eyes, wetting his cheeks, uncontrollably flowing down in streams as he shook with sobs.

_Stop it! _Quickly wiping the tears away, Turino cursed his weakness. There was no point caring! It was all a waste, a waste!

_She_ wouldn't cry for him. _She _wouldn't care.

The mist was just beginning to clear. How long had he been sitting there indulging in his sad memories? Standing, Turino felt the wind blow his hair into his eyes. Even that seemed to mock him. The tears nearly came again.

_Get a grip on yourself!_

Breathing in deeply, the Fire Poison Mage-to-be glanced down the mountainside, at the blue ribbon of water at the base of the mountain. It was time he finally got his job, bring himself beyond Telida's standard. He would do his best to stay ahead of her, to prove a worthy opponent for her.

_Since it is what you want._

So he began to walk towards the river. Zethis and Raydan were waiting there impatiently for him, no doubt. The scent of the smaller forest of Victoria Island was strong and reassuring, the wind carrying tides of regret away from him, into the distance.

But it was something that wouldn't die, though he had sworn to destroy it, seven years ago. It was something that refused to be crushed, too defiant, too hopeful.

It wouldn't vanish, no matter how he tried to forget. He still loved Telida, more than he could imagine.

_That _was the strange thing about love.

* * *

_ketara: departure_

Since Telida had exited from the back of the bar, she had never stopped smiling.

But, as Ketara had come to learn, she was actually laughing her heart out—for she never laughed, and a smile was her greatest expression of joy. He sometimes wondered how it had happened, and why it was that she no longer laughed.

_Wait, _he thought. He _had_ heard her laugh before. That had been when they had first met, and she had stolen his money. Was that the only thing that amused her?

But now he decided not to think about that. She had just finished a test. And so he smiled back and walked up to her, through the sunlight-paved streets of summer, to greet her while she exited from the bar.

"Lida! Lida, how was it?"

Smiling just a little, she glanced back. "Oh, I had a nice chat with the Dark Lord over a mug of beer," she replied, relaxed.

Ketara's jaw dropped. Telida clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling wider. "I was joking!" Brushing her clothes out, she and produced a throwing star. Her hand flicked forward before he could look, and the black object spun by in a blur and shot straight into a crack on the facing wall, ten feet away. "Hard," she summarised. "But it was worth it. I'm an Assassin now." She said it with much relish.

"Great then! We'll be coming back for your third job?"

"Actually, I am eligible for it," she replied. "But I decided to get some time to try out my new skills first."

"Already eligible? Wait—how old are you?" It surprised Ketara that he hadn't asked her about that yet. How old was she? He had always assumed she was around his age, but he really had no idea.

"About sixteen and a half," she replied. "Almost seventeen. I've lost count, actually."

"That's about my age too. But I'm only turning seventeen around the start of next year."

Ralinn called them together, beside a tall tree with pink blossoms, under its cool shade. Their purpose for travel to Kerning City having been fulfilled; it was time for them to move on through the Dungeon to obtain Telida's stone, which Ketara had learnt was of great value to the twins. The summer was bright, and he couldn't help but feel cheerful that day.

"Doesn't matter that my father was a cruel, heartless jerk," she said. "They died, and this is all that's left of them." The way the Assassin had phrased it, so blunt and raw, made Ketara feel only more for Telida's hidden past. He so much wanted to ask how it had all happened, and why she hated her father so much. But he knew how insensitive it would sound, especially when it came to his response to what she told him.

Ralinn had gotten wind that the fastest route to the greater forest of Victoria Island was through the sewerage system, into a swamp that led directly into the Dungeon. They were disbelieving at first of course.

_A sewerage system? _Ketara had instantly wondered, imagining himself trekking through knee-deep sludge in a dark tunnel.

But he soon came to realise that the guild leader wasn't joking. Not that she joked very often anyway. And so, after a short lunch in a restaurant, their last comfortable meal for another three months or so, they finally departed—paid Ralinn's parents a last visit, exchanged wishes of good luck.

Then they left the heavenly comfort of city life, and entered the wilderness once again. It was time for their last journey to continue.

* * *

_shirion: nothing more_

What had happened since the attack? It still seemed so recent, yet it had already been four months.

He still remembered leaping. Leaping from the burning beams of red, Akera's crazy idea—which had worked.

A cushion of leaves had ended their fall, so suddenly. They had suddenly lain there, upon a net of tangled branches, panting, his heart thumping in his chest like a powerful drum. They had made it down that last length, landed upon the dead leaves with a thump, alive—and he had been in perfect condition, except for numerous scratches on their arms.

They had escaped from certain death. Even the notion still made Shirion's heart race with exhilaration. Already, the leaves were turning red and gold like confetti, fluttering down upon the ground before them, thickening the vivid carpet laid out before the two as they walked. The air was cool with the arrival of autumn.

The taste of death coming so close was still strong and distinct on his tongue—he could have sworn that he could still smell the fresh lightning of the necromancers' magic, hear the vast explosion of flame booming overhead.

A second more, and they would have been burnt to ashes. He shivered with the sheer excitement that had burned through his blood.

They now hid deep within the forest, running further from the city everyday, through dark wooded areas that few had ever explored before. For this was the only safe place now.

Day after day in exhilarating flight, in heart-pounding terror—a season later, they were still living and breathing.

Akera was cooking their lunch in the depths of the forest, upon a pile of dry twigs. Her face was contorted in a snarl, curses streaming from her lips while she struggled to get the wood to catch fire without burning out too quickly.

Fire suddenly exploded on the branches in a cloud of smoke. In seconds, it cleared, leaving nothing but a pile of ashes. Akera cursed again.

"The key is control," Shirion lectured yet again. "If you make it too big, you'll burn out our wood before it can be of any proper use."

"Well, if you think it's so easy, why don't _you_ try?"

Upon hearing those words, the Crusader decided not to pursue the matter, and turned back to his skill book. It was just like her, being so impatient and intimidating.

_Will I ever love her? _For some strange reason, the question fought its way into his thoughts. He glanced at the girl who had been his companion for all the worst years of his life, and had somehow always had more strength than he had.

He knew it was possible. But it didn't seem right—somehow, she didn't seem like the kind he would love. Too _masculine, _in a way—she was the kind whom he would rather know as a friend.

_But wouldn't it be right? I have known her so long, and I know that she is…a nice person._

It felt strange. But he knew that he wouldn't. She was a friend, and only a friend. She was only someone to accompany him on his journeys and lend him moral support. He had never thought of her any other way.

Besides, she wasn't the kind to fall in love either—it would be hilarious, to him, if that were to happen.

And so he made up his mind. Akera was his friend, and nothing more.

"Hm. We really should get going to Ossyria," she said. "I mean, we'll never survive if we stay here. I bet all the guards and policemen already recognise us."

"Yeah. I hate the feeling of being infamous. Not that _you _don't know how it's like. But—how are we going to get there without being caught?"

Akera seemed quite confident, despite his question. She smiled briefly and folded her arms. "Remember the place we were working before we escaped? Don't you ever take _any _notice of their habits? They don't guard the cargo. And they don't check it before loading it."

Shirion raised one eyebrow sceptically. "Don't tell me you're thinking of doing _that…"_

She nodded. "We'll hide inside them. They'll never find us that way."

He sighed and shook his head. "You and your crazy ideas," he muttered.

* * *

_ketara: the dragon messengers_

They were at the junction of two forests, the greater and the lesser—and they were surrounded by dragons. Dragons, waiting under the falling traces of sunlight between tightly-interwoven branches and the deep shadows they cast. All around, small black figures gazing down with luminous eyes and tattered wings.

"Woah…scary," Ketara said to himself, staring upwards with wide eyes. There were rustles above; the creatures were shifting to get a better look at the travellers.

"They've always been here," Telida replied, glancing about.

The path was rarely used; the undergrowth was wild and tangled, and it was obvious that no one had ever come here before. The leaves crackled beneath their feet, rustling under the footsteps of the dragons as they shifted.

_"Greetings…"_

Ketara felt his blood turn cold, and he stopped walking abruptly, glancing about. Above, behind—and yet he saw nothing.

"Hey…did you hear that?"

"Hear what? A dragon cry?" Telida replied, regarding him with a little curiosity. "That's all _I _heard."

"Quiet!" Ralinn exclaimed briefly with a whisper, waving for them to carry on. Passing it off as his extremely frightened imagination, the warrior walked on uneasily.

_"Greetings, human!"_

This time, Ketara was certain that he had heard someone_s_, or some_things_, calling out to him. It was a hoarse, inhuman-sounding voice, and at once sent chills coursing through him. It had distinctly come from above, but when he looked up, he could only see silently watching dragons.

"Didn't you hear that?"

Ralinn and Telida shook their heads simultaneously, not turning.

Fearfully, Ketara looked about and breathed in deeply. Perhaps, if he responded, he would find out what _it _was.

"Uh… Who are you?"

His voice was dry and probably too soft for that _something _to hear. But suddenly, he heard a powerful, huge rustling above them, in the leaves, as the nearest of the dragons spread its wings and turned to him with a golden stare.

_"Us. Human, you carry the power of our Ancient One."_

Ketara's jaw dropped, and the most intelligent answer that he could give was, "Huh?" The other two turned around, staring at him as if he were crazy.

Telida looked a little worried. "Who're you talking to? Stop scaring us, Ketara!"

He glanced about, confused as well. "I—don't know either," he replied. "I think it's the dragons…"

Ralinn looked up in surprise. "The dragons?"

"_Yes, it is we,_" came the resounding reply of one, the one closest. Its yellow gaze pierced into Ketara's, almost burning, almost too unbearable to return. But he looked back at it, more questioning than frightened. Was it true? Could he truly hear what they said?

Suddenly there was a blur of wings, and the powerful rustle of leaves. The dragon leapt from the branches, landing heavily between them. It was only as tall as he was, but its black-scaled wings were enough to tell him that it was a lot stronger.

_"Believe me." _The other two were staring at him as the dragon brought its face close to his. _"We are willing to help you, carrier of the Ancient One's power."_

"Then could you…uh…take us to Ellinia?" He ventured, suddenly realising that it could well cut their journey by a few days.

_"It is our pleasure to do so," _it replied with what might have been a smile—the corner of its mouth curved upwards slightly, and it gave a single call to the rest—_"Come, my brothers and sisters!"_

_They _really _agree?_ It sounded so much a dragon's cry, the usual screeching roar—and yet he could make out words! It felt so strange.

But he had not much time to think, for in the next moment, three dragons were suddenly descending form the treetops, their wings mere shadows that glided down between the leaves and branches, currents of wind coursing violently between them. Ralinn and was staring on in shock from behind him, glancing about and whispering to a somewhat calm Telida in alarm.

"Ketara—how in the world did you do that?!"

One dragon called out to him, lowering itself to the ground, low enough for him to mount—

Blinking to make sure that he wasn't just imagining it, Ketara cautiously stepped through the fallen leaves that crunched beneath his shoes, standing before the dragon that was watching him with still golden eyes.

_"Get onto me,"_ it replied in confirmation. Dumbfounded but excited, he carefully walked up till he was close enough to see its scales—hooked his arms carefully onto its back. Then to the disbelieving stares of the two girls, he climbed on.

It was strangely comfortable. He hadn't thought that it would be like this—he had expected its back to be rock-hard and lumpy—but no, its back actually seemed to have been made for a rider.

"Come on, Lida!" he called, turning to the two again.

"You can _really _talk to those things?" She still sounded disbelieving, still refusing to take a step forward.

Ketara felt certain enough that it was safe. He could feel the assuring warmth of the dragon through its scales; a figurative, imaginary warmth that told him most reassuringly of its sincerity. "Don't worry! Get on!"

The newly-made Assassin glanced up at the second dragon and didn't look away.

"If you say it's fine, I assume it is," she replied, voice determined. Walking forward, obscuring every trace of fear, she hoisted herself onto the back of the second, much more gracefully than the Dragon Knight himself had managed.

"Well, Ralinn," Telida said. After watching the third, unmounted dragon, the guild leader swallowed and nodded. She walked over carefully, seeming frightened of the large creature.

She had made it up as well. "Alright," Ketara said to the one he sat on. "We're ready!"

_"As you wish, child of the Ancient one," _it responded obediently, quite flatteringly so. _"Try not to fall."_

He felt a ripple in the muscles of its back. And without warning, it gave its wings a powerful beat that thundered in his ears, lurched suddenly, dizzyingly—leapt—and never landed.

Then the wind was rushing powerfully, and the leaves were slowly growing bigger, as the rhythmic wing beats continued, full of strength, and he hung on madly. And they broke through the canopy—the leaves were everywhere, drowning him, rustling all around like thundering rain.

The sky opened over them, a sky they hadn't seen for three months.

He was _flying._ Flying on the back of a dragon—when minutes ago, he had been trekking across the uneven grounds of the forest, struggling from hunger and the weight of his spear.

"Why do you wish to serve us?" he suddenly asked. "Isn't it demeaning to you?" He had always known of the species' pride, so it puzzled him that they were willing to take them to Ellinia.

It gave a low growl, something that could have been a sigh.

_"We are the dragon messengers," _it said. _"We were sent here centuries ago by our Ancient One, to live on this lesser land and send messages from one human to another. But—they hated us, and they hunted us, drove us into the darkness. Left us to die. Now we wish to redeem ourselves, and so we will help you."_

"You'll find some use again," Ketara replied. "But don't show yourself now—it's dangerous, for us too."

Did they know about the king? No doubt he would destroy the dragons immediately, if they showed up in the open. It hurt him so much to think of this. It filled him with strange anger.

But as he looked out at the open sky, Ketara felt every last trace of anger flee. Today was a good day—and they were about to meet the rest, at last.

And so, he smiled.

* * *

_raydan: anticipation_

Raydan allowed himself a moment of recollection. The long trip to Ellinia had finally come to an end five months ago, Turino heading straight to Grendel's library on arrival. And so the other two had been left to train without him. Slowly, they had come to realise that both were coming very close to their third job levels.

"You thinking of going as well?" Raydan had looked at his companion, who had been resting against the tree trunk, panting a little. There had been a contemplative look in Zethis' eyes; he had understood Raydan's words as soon as he had said them. Their plans hadn't taken long to shape up after that.

And so, as soon as Turino had appeared, exhausted, at the door of their inn that evening, they had told him of their plans. He had looked pretty happy, which was saying something.

Soon after, they had departed from Ellinia—Zethis to Perion, and Raydan to Henesys. Raydan took care to stay hidden this time—they had come so close to being captured on their previous journey, and he didn't want to risk it ever again.

The weeks had passed so fast—and as the winter winds had begun to descend onto Henesys, he had finally begun his return trip to Ellinia, test completed, now a Sniper with a new crossbow and a new air of pride about him. Zethis had made it back three days after he had, a White Knight who suddenly looked twice as powerful.

Now the air was cold and sweet. Raydan stood on the lowest branches of Ellinia, concealed from view, watching the road beneath the western gate intently for any sign of his friends' return. He smiled; he hadn't had a day of calm like this for a long while. Turino and Zethis had promised to meet him later, at this spot.

He felt a gentle touch of cold on his arm. Then, the snow began to descend from the treetops, slowly, then in drifts, scarce through the dead branches. He found himself smiling even wider, the sky seeming to dim slightly, pleasantly as he gazed up into the heavens, the snow falling upon the branches around him.

Again, Raydan looked to the gate. When would everyone return? His sister? He missed her. This was the hundred and eightieth day. Soon, they would finally be soaring across the boundless oceans, into a land he had never seen before. Soon. But when?

He wanted it to start now. He wanted to see the world, at last. He couldn't wait—and yet he had to.

So he did.

* * *

_orion's belt: the ship to destiny_

_"Here I wait, my wish still lingering_

_Longing for a sky so blue_

_From the shadows I have fled, and_

_Now I seek my life anew."_

_"Burning in the bonds of whiteness_

_Speaking shadows, blazing light_

_Deep dark sighs in which I linger—_

_How my memories bind me tight!"_

The songs had returned, ever so suddenly—why were they speaking _now_? Was it possible that they were here, in Ellinia—_two _powerful people who had yet to be captured?

They walked on through the snowy roads, on the last leg of their trip to a city she had only visited once in her life. Today was the hundred and eightieth day, she recalled. Right on time.

The winds of winter had just begun to fill the air around them, and the snow was starting to fall—the feeling it brought was beautiful. They had just left the dragons, not before they had given Ketara a pearl of some kind, for calling them again.

Behind her, Ralinn's companions were discussing Ellinia now. Ellinia, the city of trees, of magic, of an invisible sky—it had been Ketara's only true home, and he knew it the best among them.

A patrol suddenly appeared at the edge of their vision. Ralinn swiftly dragged them into the forest, away from the road, and all three took refuge behind three wide tree trunks while the guard patrol came into view.

_Another? _Ralinn thought. She had expected the western gate to be less well-known, but it seemed that they would have trouble entering.

Finally the guards passed. Ralinn took one glance down the snowy road, now covered in fresh footprints. The patrols came every twenty minutes, and they weren't far from the city. Glancing at Ketara and Telida, she gestured for them to follow, and stepped out into the open once more.

The arch of branches became clear as they walked. Ralinn called out to them and pointed it out, and soon they were running towards it, eager with excitement.

Then two black shapes caught Ralinn's eye beneath the gate, and she froze.

Her mouth fell open in a gasp.

_Necromancer guards._

Carefully, every nerve tingling, the guild leader stepped backwards, away from the road, into the dead forest. "New route," she whispered hushedly, pulling the other two in quickly before they made a sound. "In, in now! Necromancer guards!"

They slipped in between the lifeless trees once more, Ralinn's heart pounding in her head. A few more steps, another sound, and they would have been caught.

The trip through the trunks was slow and arduous. They kept their footsteps small, afraid that any sound would bring the guards running with their staves of Lithium.

_Necromancers! _Ralinn thought again, frightened, as their journey proceeded through dense vegetation. _How will we survive now? How will we ever run from—_

"Linn!"

Before she could identify that familiar voice, someone leapt from the branches to land before them, just a blur from above. Just as the realisation slipped into her mind—_Raydan_—Ralinn found herself wrapped in her brother's tight embrace.

"What—Raydan? What—when—" She glanced upwards at where he had come from, only to see two figures, a yard above her head—Zethis, staring downwards with wide eyes, and Turino, his dark clothes stark among the snow-covered branches. They came down as well.

"Hey, you guys!" Ketara exclaimed happily, losing all notion of being cautious. "Hm, that's White Knight armour!"

Ralinn's eyes widened, and she silenced him. "Shut up! The guards are still there," she whispered angrily as Raydan pulled away. The three exchanged glances among each other.

"So," Telida said acidly, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Did you find life reasonable without _me?"_

Turino stared back. "With those two? Nowhere _near _reasonable. But a thousand times better than with _you _around." Telida suddenly whirled around to leer at him.

"Break it up, please," Ralinn half begged, slightly afraid to invoke any further anger. Thankfully, they did so without another word, but she could still feel the air crackling with tension as they began on their way to the city, deep in the safety of the forest.

Telida and Ketara were the only ones conversing after that. Ralinn listened with interest. The Assassin had opened up to Ketara the most, she found—a lot more than to the guild leader herself. Did the Dragon Knight hold the key to everyone's heart, even the coldest?

She was smiling more and more now—so much, during their journey. She had said that it was because her brother wasn't there. But was she simply changing, as a person? Despite her outward appearance, she had a beautiful heart. The change made Ralinn glad.

Raydan seemed to be observing them as well. "You two look a lot like a couple of lovers when you walk together like that," he suddenly pointed out. Both stopped walking and turned to him.

"Hm, _right," _Telida replied, with hardly any disturbance in her expression. "We're just friends. Anything wrong with that?"

"Yup, she's right," Ketara added in cheerful agreement. "She made me promise that we'd only be friends. Because she's sworn an oath to the Clock Spirit never to fall in love. So we're nothing more, hm?"

"I was just saying—" Raydan began, but stopped. "—Yeah…fine." Ralinn laughed to herself at how embarrassed he must be feeling.

A risky journey was impending—their journey to Ossyria, a year delayed. And yet no one seemed tense about it. They were all caught up in their own thoughts and discussions.

Glad for this, she continued to walk, smiling.

* * *

_akera: the ship to destiny_

"Well, here we are," Shirion said as they came to a stop next to the loading area of the ship. The guards were far, getting the workers to ready the sails. It had been her job once, Akera recalled with a sigh.

The sky was a calm grey, the grey of beautiful winter. This would be the day they would finally flee this horrible world, and fly to the other side of the sea. This was the day that would change their lives.

The Crusader, her companion all these years, threw the cover off an empty crate. "After you," he said. She took one glance at the wooden box, sighed, and began to climb in. Moments later, Shirion closed the lid over her head, and she was enclosed in darkness. Allowing herself to lean against the wooden interior, she soaked in the sudden flood of safety that filled her heart.

Though she was in a box, she had never felt so free.

"Good luck," Shirion said through the lid of the box, voice muffled. She murmured cheerfully in reply, closing her eyes to the darkness around her.

Everything was turning. Everything was changing direction. This was the day that would change their lives, and she was certain of it.

* * *

_clynine: flight_

This was the day that would change their lives.

Month after month, she had served the prison, healing the injured, bringing those forgotten smiles back to their faces, and it had heartened her so much. At every chance, she had studied the prison, found all the weak points, all the routes they might take.

It had quickly become clear to her that the front entrance was too heavily guarded. They needed another route out. And as far as she knew, there was only one left.

Zakum. Through the burning dungeons at the deepest part of the mine, and out through the secret exit behind his altar.

It had taken months, but the means of deceit, all their weaknesses and mistakes, they had written themselves into her mind without her notice. They were slow in their shift changes. They let down their guards in the presence of less than three. And with these tiny flaws, they could do _everything._

Finally, she felt ready. This day, she had sent a signal to Lanoré to injure herself, ten minutes before dinner. It was the only way for them to meet inconspicuously, and begin their escape together.

This would be the day, Clynine swore. This would be the day they won their freedom once more.

_I promise I will do you proud, Mistress!_

The footsteps were coming up the corridor to her tiny room, which she had been given at the start of her job. She sat up, nervous. The echoes were coming closer, and she could somehow tell that those were Lanoré's footsteps—they had become so familiar over the years.

The blonde woman appeared at the door, her sharp blue eyes not dulled despite the pain she showed on her face. A guard followed them in, and Clynine swallowed as his gaze passed over the two of them.

"Clynine," Lanoré murmured with a smile as she sat down before her. "How have you been?"

Clynine instantly stood, her heartbeat growing faster with every second the Ice Lightning Archmage stood before her. The window of time wouldn't be open long. They had to act fast.

"Your injury first," the Cleric said quickly, and added in a whisper, with a glance at the guard, "I've found a route out."

Lanoré's eyes sparked briefly, then she nodded and held out her arm. Clynine slipped two staves from the cupboard— Lanoré's Blue Marine, as well as her own Petal Staff, holding them close together. Glancing at the guard once more, she saw that his eyes were on her mistress. Relieved, she quickly slipped the second staff under the table and poked Lanoré's leg with it.

The Archmage responded fast, grasping it firmly with a hint of a smile. Clynine bent and pretended to look at the wound on her arm.

"This cut could kill you," Clynine said with a faked sigh, raising her staff. The wound was obviously less serious than she had made it sound, but she had to keep up the act, just a little longer. "Alright, let's start—" She gave a small nod. "—One, two—"

And they turned to the guard, staves burning with magic.

As the guard's eyes were widening behind his helmet, Clynine gave a glorious cry of "Magic Claw", and the blue light tore into his chest, blowing his helmet off and breaking his chest armour apart.

"Not bad," Clynine's mistress commented, before turning. "_Blizzard!_"

The whirl of ice that rushed from Lanoré's glowing staff tip was amazing. The icy cold filled the room, icicles forming on the top of the doorway, at the edges of the desk, pieces of ice scattered across the floor, papers fluttering everywhere, frigid winds blasting down on the guard in a showering of icy shards.

The Archmage stepped back and ended the spell, satisfied. The guard now lay on the ground, unconscious among the remains of his armour, his body white and red in ice and frozen blood. He was out.

And seconds later, they were running. The two began their flight, down the dank corridor, Clynine's heart racing with excited ecstasy—for her mistress' presence, for the freedom she had wanted so long. The wind was strong and free. This was the day!

She gave a sharp cry as they turned the corner to their last path. Three guards had come into view, blocking their passageway into the main mine shaft.

Lanoré's eyes were full of trust. "Coming through!" Her shout was full of enjoyment, a tone of voice Clynine hadn't heard for months already. As the three guards whirled around, alarmed, she called out a powerful "Chain Lightning", and all three were thrown violently against the grey wall with a boom and an explosion of blinding blue, their armour charred, eyes blank.

Clynine yelped out in exhilaration, and with a burst of confident strength, they made the final dash for the entrance to the main shaft together.

Down, down, down it went after that. They boarded the lift, lowered themselves speedily, deeper, sank past the dark flickering mines in the walls of the vertical shaft, past the tired workers at their labour, down towards the flaming bottom of the pit.

And the air slowly grew warm, hot, filled with sparks and bursts of heat, as they finally entered the final level, and saw the corridor into the next room. Lanoré swung the gate open and gave Clynine a brief pat of comfort on her back.

"Here, Clynine," she said. "This is our last stop."

Then they ran, across the uneven black floor, hardened lava, towards the heat, towards the blazing room laid before them.

They were past the arch of the entrance, and the last cavern opened. The Cleric had never felt so frightened—not when they had been captured, not when they had fallen into the sea—her legs were shaking so much she was sure she would collapse.

The cavern was tall and bright, bright with fire, like the inside of a cathedral with a million candles. The flames were blinding, shooting up from the cracks all around the room. Lanoré glanced back, and they began to run, dodged around the bursting flames, sweat making Clynine's staff nearly slip from her grasp.

She had to stay right behind her mistress, stay right behind her. Trust her. It was the only way.

A blast of flame met her face-on. She leapt back in horror as the fire roared, sputtered, vanished—and she was trembling uncontrollably after that, sweating madly.

"Clynine!" Lanoré suddenly shouted from ahead of her, her face full of certain assurance, full of certain glory, shining in the flames. Suddenly, she was sure of everything. And she followed after, followed like there was no tomorrow.

And the world became too hot to bear. The cave had come to an end, the main shaft now far from view as Clynine glanced back. They were past the flames—deep, too deep—and the roaring was slowly growing louder. A roar like an avalanche, making the ground tremble and quake, filling the Cleric with fear.

Again her mistress called to her, her Blue Marine gleaming brightly in her had. It was time. Time for them to take the final gamble.

And then they stood before Zakum's Altar.

It was beautifully monstrous. The stones were shaking, its mouth gaping like a living statue's, flames raging in a circle around its ten groaning arms, its roars burning Clynine's ears. The Archmage looked up, stepped forward. Walked forward a little more.

Suddenly, everything else seemed so far away. She now stood in the face of death.

Clynine followed her mistress, step for step. She had to trust Lanoré. Trust her. It was the last thing she had.

They were so close that the tiniest cracks on Zakum's fists and on the altar beneath it had become clear. Lanoré was searching, breathing deeply, turned away from the great statue-monster.

Their time was running out. Soon it would lose all tolerance—the great god that even the king feared, the ultimate power of all El Nath—and they would be destroyed, a death too sudden to reckon with.

_The exit—where?_

And she saw it—a dark crack in the wall to the monster's right, so narrow—but just enough for a person to slip through. It was there, waiting, elusive as flames leapt to obscure it ever few seconds. That was their road to salvation.

Zakum had grown angry.

"Clynine," Lanoré said once more, glancing at her assistant with power in her eyes. "We will come out of this alive. I promise, Clynine. I nearly ended your life once, and I won't do it again."

Zakum turned its head to them, the groan of stone, the most guttural, frightening roar she had ever heard, filling her ears to block everything else out, making her blood whirl. Its eyes were furious, and Clynine felt her body fail from terror.

"Let's go; this is the last challenge!" Lanoré looked ready to run. The statue's mouth grew wider, the flames crackling with unrivalled rage. Coming closer. Ready to destroy them.

_This time, I will not fail my mistress. This time, I will run. _The day of their capture came echoing painfully back, the day when her moment of hesitation had lost them everything.

_This time, I will run._

Her mistress gave a cry.

And it all became a blur.

She felt the Archmage's grip take her hand once more, and suddenly, she was flying through flame, through the raging roar of fire, so close, so close—

Flying through an inferno, burning on her face, the hot stones beneath her shoes, everything burning.

She screamed. The world cracked open in an explosion of vivid flame, and her skin seemed to tear with the heat. But she was drawn on, pulled on by a strange force, and she heard a gentle, angry cry, cold blueness exploding a second time around them, cold anger—the colour of her mistress' eyes.

"Clynine…Clynine, I promise we'll make it!" the world was filled with a strong voice, a vague voice that gave Clynine all the certainty she needed even though she knew she was dying.

But the flame was coming. It was unbearable, ready to destroy her—

And ice suddenly burst around her, freezing, heartbreaking.

And then, she felt the world turn black, a second time.

* * *

_to destiny_

Even in the dank darkness of the cargo room, Ralinn could hear their roars, violent songs, coming through the deep wood. She leaned her head on the wall, hearing their cries grow closer.

Shouts of warning. And the bottom of the cabin suddenly tore open, the ocean gaping through the splintered wood, wind rushing through from the sky, and _their _faces, so monstrous, gazing up at them, seeking out their prey.

What a time for a mishap like this to happen—Ralinn had given a call of command, and everyone had come out from among the crates, weapons at ready.

And to her shock, there were not six people—but eight.

It lasted only minutes, for there were only two Balrogs. The arrows were true, even in the roaring wind; Raydan did just as well, his bolts fired with certain accuracy. The two warriors—suddenly joined by a third, completely destroyed them, and rendered the two monsters immobile for the rest to hit.

And the burning stars, the continuous onslaught of blazing fire arrows, had finally forced them to their knees. With roars, they fell back through the hole, dead and forgotten, and Ralinn hung her bow upon her shoulder, turning to the two newcomers.

From where had they appeared?

The white-haired girl glared at Ralinn with icy eyes. "What?" Her voice was furious and low.

Ralinn decided not to say anything to her, already afraid. She turned her gaze to the male youth beside her—

"_Shirion?" _Ever since the incomplete guild had met him in the Warrior's Sanctuary, Ralinn had somehow been unable to forget him. His hair was still long, the colour of mahogany, his expression the same as before.

"It's you—Ralinn," he replied with a smile.

The white-haired girl's eyes widened, but her frown never left. "You _know _them?!" Shirion nodded in reply.

"Oh, it _is _you!" Ketara exclaimed, an excited smile coming to his face. "It's a small world, isn't it?"

Soon, all eight stowaways were seated on the ground in impromptu conversation. The moody girl was sitting aside with a frown.

"This was _our _ride," she growled, folding her arms. "And you _had _to intrude! Stupid people. Stupid ship! I hate this!"

"Could you _shut up?" _Turino suddenly answered from another corner, glaring at her. "It's not _your _ship. Stop whining like you'll die of it!"

"Why don't you start by shutting _yourself_ up_?_ Mind your own business!"

"How do I do that when there's some idiot girl _poking around in my business_?" He stepped out, taking his staff from his belt, flaming with magic. The expression on his face could kill.

But, as expected, the girl didn't back down. She gave him an _I'm-not-afraid-of-idiots-like-you _look, and raised her staff as well, setting it aflame with a silent command.

_Perfect, _Ralinn thought. _Just what we need. A fight._

"This is not how you treat a passer-by," she said sensibly to Turino, who ignored her.

"I don't need you to tell him off!" the girl spat back. "He's just _begging _to be burnt to death!"

"Not as much as you, crazy woman!" Turino retorted loudly, calling a Fire Arrow to his staff. She did the same. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the huge hole in the hull of the ship by then. They were watching the two intently, silent and somewhat frightened.

"Akera! Stop it!" Shirion exclaimed with alarm.

She turned back, eyes still narrowed. "And let this piece of crap be smug about it?"

"If you want to prove yourself better than her, let it go," Ralinn suggested desperately.

Turino glanced at Akera and rolled his eyes, folding his arms. "Yeah—you're not worth my time," he muttered, stepping away with another sharp glare at her. He kept his staff and leaned against the wall.

Akera's response showed that the feeling was mutual. She returned to the other end of the cabin and sat down with a frown, not bothering to look at anyone else.

Again, her silver hair caught Ralinn's eye, fluttering in the wind. It was like shimmering white silk. Akera was somewhat beautiful; her eyes were narrowed and ice-blue. And they burned with a fury that had been there all her life, it seemed. She looked so troubled, like something had been chasing her since forever…

The realisation came just moments later. They were the ones the voices belonged to. The two new songs from her dreams—it was they, she was so certain. But Ralinn was somehow too afraid to try and ask them…

"Shirion?" the guild leader began cautiously, changing the Crusader's thoughtful expression to curiosity. His eyes told her to go on. "You know…"

She felt so much more nervous than she had most of the times she had done this—was it because of the way he looked up into her eyes like that, with a gaze that she was sure could read her thoughts? Was it just that aura of power that he emanated all the time—or simply the fact that he was handsome, in a strong, reassuring way?

"…Um…could you consider…joining our guild? Both you and Akera?" Shirion's eyes widened. She smiled, a little shyly, and nodded.

"I…I wouldn't mind, actually," he responded agreeably with a smile of his own. "But what are you doing after this?"

She thought for a while. "We actually want to keep training until we're ready. Then we're going to try and—overthrow the king."

That made his eyes widen even more. Looking very surprised now, he turned to Akera. "Akera, how does that sound?" he asked. "They want us in their guild. I'm joining. You coming?"

She glanced at the guild leader suspiciously. "Join your guild? Are they all your members?" she asked, looking about at the rest with angry eyes. Especially Turino, whom she fixed a terrifying glare on, and who returned it equally. Finally, she looked back at Shirion and seemed to contemplate.

"Yeah, fine," she replied. "Since I've always wanted to do that. But seeing how your guild is doing, I don't think you're going to have any success."

To Ralinn, the comment was painful. But she decided to brush it off, for she knew that Akera couldn't help it. Just like _some _other members of Orion's Belt.

And so she stood up, heart pounding suddenly, and drew two pendants from her pocket. It had grown so empty—only two of the nine chains remained now. How fast time flew! It had been five years, and their guild was almost complete. Two more people—and their true journey would begin.

Ralinn had never felt so excited, or nervous, before.

Shirion took it with a smile. Akera stood and held out a hand for it as well, but she wasn't smiling much. And as she put the chain on, she didn't smile either—but then something in her expression changed, seemed to find peace—a peace she had sought for a long time.

And so it was complete. "Welcome to Orion's Belt," she said. "These are our members. That's Raydan, my brother," she turned to the Sniper, who was talking to Zethis. He waved. "Zethis, beside him," the new White Knight managed a small smile, then looked down again. Ralinn then gestured to the two, Ketara and Telida, who were sitting on a crate. "Ketara, the Dragon Knight—"

"Sounds like a girl's name," Akera said insensitively. He laughed in reply.

"—and Telida, the Assassin there." She looked up at the mention of her name, glancing at the new guild members. "And—you've more or less met him already—Turino." The Wizard didn't bother looking up from the stone in his hands. He muttered the word "idiot" in reply.

For the rest of the half-hour-long trip, Shirion made conversation with the rest of the guild. Akera, however, continued to hang back in a dark corner.

_Not really a sociable one, are you? _Ralinn thought, smiling despite how upset she still looked. Things were getting a lot more interesting now, definitely. How things would unfold after this, Ralinn had yet to know. But somehow, despite the darkness that was slowly descending upon the world around them, and the destiny that loomed closer every moment, the guild leader felt certain and contented.

The ship touched the harbour, and they fled, setting foot for the first time in Orbis, Ossyria. The winter wind was cool and fresh, filled with the smell of promise, the ledges decked in shining snow that told them that the Year of the Ox was coming to an end.

And far away—far, far below the floating stone city or Orbis, lay two rebels upon the snows of El Nath, at the edge of a mine full of shadows and flame, in a world of light and expectance. A Cleric seeking out the future meant for her; an Ice Lightning Archmage who knew all the possibilities laid down. Ready to take it all on.

It was the brink of a new year, a future of a thousand pathways. Which was _their _path? Where would it end? Victory, defeat, the answer was as elusive as a snowflake against the clouds. Would they live to pass their memories on, memories of this beautiful, heart-wrenching battle?

In the end, it would all be clear—the questions would be answered, and in time, they would know. But for now, they would have to wait—wait for the Year of the Tiger to begin.

* * *

Any fanfiction author knows that **reviews** are what keeps an author going. So please do review! No silent readers!


	6. Year of the Tiger

I have not returned. But I simply couldn't give up this story. So here comes chapter 6.

_The length! So sorry about it._

I screwed the level-ups. So, I will create a new rule in my story: PQs have no level limit. Of course, they _do _cater to a certain level range. But for my story to work, you must assume this.

I have a new webpage specially for this story. www. freewebs. com/absol-master/otdots. htm, take out the spaces.

And before you start, let me remind you to review!

Okay, here goes… (crosses fingers)

* * *

Chapter 6: Year of the Tiger

_clynine: drifts of memory_

From the top of a marble spiral staircase, she gazed down into the shadows, the steps pale and cold in the early spring air. Ah—it was still so clear in her memory, the smell of fresh petals on the breeze in the sliding windows.

"_I am Lanoré, pleased to meet you."_

She looked up at the sound of the smooth voice. _Lanoré…_

"_The Silver Fang of El Nath—yes, yes, our daughter would like to become your assistant!"_

Her mouth moved of its own accord._ "I'm—Clynine." _She glanced up at the Silver Fang and blushed. It was exactly as she remembered it—clear reminiscence of a time on the long river.

She could feel it, the weight of this moment. She could feel it, the tension in the cold.

"_What is your job?"_

"_Magician, level sixteen."_

In the present, her heart fluttered once more.

"_Clynine, perform any spell." _

A _spell! _She couldn't—couldn't…

Her hands were cold, so cold. She raised her palms, called on a power in her heart, her imaginary grip slipping, trembling so much…

The magic shone, shot forward. It was white. White, as always.

_Wrong._

Everything was growing so blurred—pale shining light, hazy and bright, was obscuring it all…

"_Was that an Energy Bolt?" _

"_I…I did it wrong again." _Sorrow that cut deeper than glass.

"_Clynine, that is the most amazing Energy Bolt I've ever seen in my life…"_

…_life…life…_

Then it was fading, the marble stairs, the scent of petals, the forgotten face of the powerful being that was the Silver Fang of El Nath, all whirling away in whiteness and ice and flame—

_El Nath?_

_El Nath…_

The blurred shreds of a dream fluttered away, as another cold gale washed past. Now only white, white, a dark cave set in rock…

It all came back to her in a whirl. The prison, bars of metal, fallen guards covered in blood and frost, darkness, flame—Zakum—

_Lanoré!_

Lanoré, the Silver Fang of El Nath. She was leaning on the rock face, watching the sky with calm eyes, deep blue like sapphire, like the ocean.

Three years ago, the Cleric had stood, anxious, at a flight marble stairs. Now, here she was, upon the snow of a land a thousand miles away. Had she ever foreseen this moment, that day? Ever? Ever…

Lanoré was coming towards her, her smiling face soot-stained. Quickly, Clynine sat up and brushed the snow from her sleeves , her pink magician robes, stained darkly by soot and ash.

"Well done, Clynine," the Archmage suddenly said as she arrived at Clynine's side. "We made it. And it's thanks to you, you know?"

At the Cleric's bewilderment, Lanoré smiled. "At that last moment, when we were breaking through the flames, you cast the _hugest_ Heal spell I've ever seen," she exclaimed. "And that saved us from burning to death! Well done! Remind me to find you a trainer for your light and healing magic soon, alright? There's some serious talent there."

Clynine nearly laughed at how serious Lanoré looked when she said it. Then, for the first time, she considered the possibility...

"So, before that, do you want to try out the Orbis Party Quest for practice?"

She glanced up at her mistress. Lanoré had raised her eyes to the tower in the distance, and the small floating islands above—just a dark silhouette, so far it could have been imaginary.

"You really think it's safe?"

"It's hidden very well," the Archmage said. "As long as you make it in safely, no one will be able to catch you."

"What about…you, mistress?" Clynine had believed that they would be doing it together all this while. But to go on her own, to go into danger without a companion—

_I'm not a defenceless child anymore. I've been one for too long._

So she nodded.

Was it really spring? She wondered, as they walked through the whiteness. The snow was still so bitter—there were none of the sweet aromas here that she had come to associate with spring. Before them, only the snows stood, pale and distant.

Spring? It felt like the world was growing colder everyday.

The days of false safety were gone. Something had happened during the previous year—and from now, they would have to fight, to keep everything they had.

_Spring is coming. The snow will melt._

* * *

_ralinn: just hold on_

"The snow _isn't _going to melt. Stop being so stubborn."

"It's almost been two _months _since the year started! Spring has to come, alright?"

"Oh, _please__—_does it _feel_ like it?"

"Well, maybe spring would be more willing to come, if _you got lost_!"

Ralinn groaned. "Will you two _shut up? _You're driving me nuts, alright?" Her breaths were deep, her anger alarmingly overwhelming—somehow, she could not stop it, much as she thought she had control.

"Exactly," Shirion replied from beside her. "It's getting on my nerves."

"Yeah, whatever!" Akera seethed. "Look, I _know _spring is coming, alright? I can't stand to see snow anymore!"

"Well, _put up with it,_" Turino answered, leering at her. "_I'm _not whining—"

"_JUST STOP IT, YOU TWO!" _Ralinn suddenly yelled, making everyone look up from their breakfasts.

Not another word was exchanged, after that. Everyone turned quietly back to their meals, like children who had just been reprimanded—though anger still crackled in the air. The guild leader sighed and returned to her plate, wondering how she would ever learn to handle Orion's Belt.

Looking down at her lap, Ralinn narrowed her eyes. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't mind them," Shirion's warm voice came from beside her. The eighteen-year-old's formality had always been strangely fascinating to the guild leader.

Turning, she took time to observe his face again—fine features that could almost have belonged to royalty, brown eyes that always seemed to probe deep into her thoughts; an accent that vaguely hinted at the fairies' way of speech.

"How did you put up with Akera so long?" she asked softly.

"She had no _choice_ but to keep quiet," he replied. Was that amusement coming into his voice? She so rarely saw him happy. "We were all kept away from each other—and they were very strict." Shirion picked a piece of bacon up from his plate with his fork and ate it.

She smiled. "Hm, and I thought _I _was a neat eater," the Ranger said in response, cutting an egg.

"What, now you're watching me eat!" At Shirion's response, Ralinn suddenly found herself feeling embarrassed. "I guess it's just a habit. Even in captivity, I couldn't stand eating messily. So strange of me."

Shirion, the professional, distant Crusader of the guild. He had always been the person Ralinn knew the least about—but now, he was slowly growing more likeable in her eyes.

"Well—at least they're not at it anymore," she commented, not looking up from her food.

The guild leader glanced around at the others, silent. They were all either gazing off into their own wonderlands, or conversing with each other. For moments, she felt both pity and gratefulness towards them—all of them.

Taken forcefully out of their old lives, for the sake of a goal they didn't even know was attainable—how much had she disrupted, in doing this?

_Just hang on, alright, Orion's Belt? You can go your own ways, after this is over. For now, just keep it together..._

But Orion's Belt—Orion's Belt was incomplete, painfully so.

Who were the last two, and when would they come? The lights beyond hazes of her dreams had begun to brighten again. They were close, so close—their songs were growing stronger. Songs of an icy world, a great light—songs she had yet to understand.

They were coming; it was almost done. Suddenly certain of the course she was taking, Ralinn reached into her pocket and held the last two pendants, smiling with a calm certainty.

* * *

_zethis: light of a dream_

The instant Ralinn raised the topic of a Party Quest, Akera was disagreeable. "Are you crazy?" she cried out angrily. "It's as good as turning ourselves in to the guards!"

"I've done my research," Ralinn answered with confidence. "Once we make it in, no one under the king's power can get to us—but of course, only those who want to will go."

The Fire Poison Mage instantly pulled out, after which Ralinn announced her intent not to participate. Out of politeness, perhaps, Shirion asked to be excused as well.

Half an hour on, and they were on their way to the Orbis Party Quest site. A heavy risk it was—they would be taking the dangerous path round the edge of Orbis, thanks to the tight security in the main city.

Zethis shook his head, thinking back to his ten-year-old days. He was fifteen now, taller than he thought he'd ever get, holding a heavy mace he never thought he would. How much had changed since then—the laws, the king's methods, the world…

Inevitably, he began to remember. The memories sank deeper, reaching so softly through his soul.

_Dad… Are you still going to Henesys to run your shop? Are you doing better, without me to burden you?_

While they climbed out into the light, he watched Raydan's back, struggling not to start sobbing. Quickly, before they exited the dark staircase, he wiped his tears away.

_It's no time to be homesick. I might never—_

The road was merely a narrow parapet bordering the sides of Orbis. But it was the only safe path. The three strongest were not around—they had decided not to go, for the sake of inconspicuousness.

All around him, the wind was strong. When Zethis glanced over the edge at the snowfields far below, he felt vertigo sweep through him, the snow suddenly flying closer—

Suddenly the knight felt a fierce grip on his arm, and his eyes flew open—he was tilting frighteningly over the edge of the pathway—

"Careful!" Raydan gasped as Zethis steadied himself. "We don't want to lose anyone to an accident like that."

Nodding obediently, he continued to follow after the Sniper, keeping his unwavering gaze on Raydan—never turning, never turning, as if it would stop him from losing his balance…

For a few seconds more, all was well.

And there was no warning.

Shadows swept across their eyes, and the flutter of cloth filled the wind. Black wings of ghosts. Black cloaks, encircling the stones, chasing them. Alone they stood, vulnerable in their position, in full view of the ones who sought their blood.

Suddenly, everything was a blank around him—the whirling snow winds, the soaring stones, the whipping cloth. _Don't, don't let go—! _It was the only thing running through his brain now, as his own heartbeat closed in…

Then the red lights were shining, and the flames were fingering his skin—

"_RUN!"_

Turino's yell was enough to startle him into motion. Raydan took off, Zethis instantly shifting into motion, too terrified to notice the distance between the sky and the snow, how narrow the icy path was…

The mechanical footsteps, closing in. The wind, chilling on the back of his neck. His own footsteps, chasing the redemption, chasing…chasing…

The tower wall appeared from beyond the bend of rock. The White Knight gasped helplessly for relief—the narrow stairs rose steeply to the top, the entrance just beyond a gate of glass.

Furious red flashed again, and Zethis staggered back. Too late he saw that he had been divided from the rest, but there was no time—Lithium staves were burning, a dark light from the Spirit Itself—

The hellish shriek pierced the sky in that second, and the edges of Zethis' vision exploded with dark fire. His dodge pulled him just a little further from the gate, from the rest—

Raydan whirled around beyond, yelling his name as the magicians of darkness circled him, cloaks whirling, to block the voice out.

"DAN!" The White Knight's involuntary cry for help was drowned out by the crackling of lightning all around him. The heat was growing on his skin, swelling unendingly—

_No—I have to do everything! For Ralinn's cause, for whatever it is we have been chosen to do!_

The mace was already in his shaking hands, shining with weak golden magic.

_Stronger…stronger—_

The lightning was powerful red, gleaming on metal, gleaming in their dark eyes—

"_POWER STRIKE!"_

Then the fire coursed through his existence—and left the bounds of his weapon altogether, a powerful arc, sending the golden blaze outwards like a wheel of light. And it shone like nothing he had ever seen, tore the indomitable circle, made the necromancers cry out as they were thrown into confused chaos.

The circle had broken. Zethis saw his chance.

He yelled desperately, taking off across the stony ground, glancing back once or twice, but the necromancers were not following—not yet. Just enough time—

"_In!"_ Raydan yelled, Zethis soaring over the remaining few feet as they rushed through the gate and came to the edge of the stone city, the tower wall suddenly ending at a vast ocean of clouds. "Get the Cleric! In!"

They were coming. The Knight could see the guards approaching, their staves already filled with deadly lightning.

"Ketara!" he exclaimed nervously. "Get the Cleric into the party!"

The Dragon Knight whirled around and pressed his fingers to the startled girl's forehead. "You fine with doing it with us?" he asked quickly. The ranks of black and red were approaching, the crackle of magic already too near—

She nodded. Together, they raced to the edge and looked down, Zethis following breathlessly. A huge mirror shone against the snow, the stone and sky floating deep within it.

"In, quick!" Raydan exclaimed once more. Zethis felt a firm push on his back—

Then the wind was rising upwards all around him. And the ground, the ground was gone—there was nothing beneath his feet. The clouds turned into streaks as the violent gale tore upwards, destroying the world, ripping the stone pathways to shreds as the city vanished above them, and the mirror beneath grew wider, wider—

And there was a hum. The sun shone from the world in the mirror, blinding, in Zethis' eyes. The glass grew closer and closer, the clouds shining, both the real and the images—burning white torches that drew everyone in…

The wind was still tearing away. Up above, the necromancers' faces were shadowed and dark. For somehow, they knew that they would never survive an entrance into the world of the Party Quest, almost as if that mirror beneath them would certainly destroy their souls on contact…

And suddenly the mirror flipped over, showing its bottom face to the sky. The hum, in brightest tones, grew deafening, the bottom of the mirror just as bright, as faithful to the real world—

It was like the world was turning into a pool of water. The White Knight saw them entering, one by one, below him—his friends and guild mates, vanishing as they slipped through the mirror and mingled with the clouds. Zethis cried out in fervent alarm—it would be him soon, him—

The sky was suddenly around him—above, beneath. The pool was enclosing him, the glass rippling like a lake. He was warm and cold at the same time, frightened, brave—nothing at all under him, only endless dry water-sky. And the glass rose to his eyes, the coldness soaking into his clothes beneath his armour.

He cried out one last time.

The world spun, whirling Zethis through the clouds on the other side, as the entire universe reversed its orientation and left him on the ground, head spinning violently.

It all looked the same, _exactly _the same. Even through dizziness, the White Knight could see the stones of Orbis, exactly like the city from which they had just leapt. But it was so silent. No guards, no people around them at all.

Raydan stood with a little effort. His crossbow was already in his hands as he glanced about at the city in bewilderment. "It's not called a mirror world for nothing," he commented with apparent understanding. "It's just Orbis Tower—in reverse."

Everyone was getting up from the ground. And the impromptu sixth member of the party—she was brushing her long brown hair and her dress out vigorously, looking around at everything.

In his dizziness, Ketara called everyone together. "Right! So we—start," he exclaimed, sounding rather convincing despite his tentative tone. "Anyway, let's welcome our temporary new party member!"

Everyone turned to the brown-haired Cleric, strangely silent. She managed a small smile, before suddenly realising that they were waiting for her to introduce herself.

"Um…hi, my name is C—" she stopped abruptly. "—Oh, my mistress said that I'm not allowed to tell anyone my name, or anything about myself. Uh—sorry…"

"Ah, that's fine then—well, we hope you enjoy your Party Quest with us!" he responded with the same enthusiasm. Nearby, Turino gave a "yeah right" sniff, and his sister rolled her eyes—probably at the girl's pink robes. It had been long established that Telida hated anything considered "girly", especially the colour pink.

The Cleric had noticed their cold responses to her induction into the party. As they began their walk through the empty space towards the tower entrance, she self-consciously drifted away from them—towards _him_.

Zethis prepared to turn away and act inconspicuously as she came nearer, just like he always did…

But it took him little time to realise that something was _different._

She wasn't making him feel nervous. One glance at her smile, and Zethis didn't fear anymore. Why? It was like she had an aura that made him feel _alright, _and even made him forget everything else—

Turning to the Cleric, he tried to smile—and for the first time in his life, he made a self-introduction.

"Hi…I'm Zethis," he said as she turned, the shadow of the stairway falling over their faces. But he could see the brightening smile that came at his words, and she gratefully took on the conversation.

"Thanks…I was getting a little afraid of being in this party—"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! That really wasn't a proper welcome at all…"

No one seemed to take notice of their conversation as they entered the first stone room of the tower. "No, no! It's perfectly fine!" the girl's good-natured reply put his heart at ease. "Let's see what this Party Quest is like, alright?"

They drifted quickly to the front of the group as Ketara came to a stop. "'Scuse me?" he called.

Before him, on a pedestal, stood a cloud—and it had a _face. _Its bowler hat flew off its head as it rose with startlement, glancing up with innocent surprise at the Party Leader's sudden call.

"Good morning, sir!" Ketara exclaimed brightly. "Could we do the Party Quest?"

"Good morning, visitors," the cloud replied formally in a surprisingly solid voice. "I am Eak, the Goddess' Chamberlain. I will begin your Party Quest shortly—please wait for a moment."

While the party watched, the strange little cloud circled the stone pedestal, setting it aglow for a few seconds. "Alright. Come with me, please," it finally said, floating towards the closed doorway. "Your Party Quest begins in five, four, three, two, one—now."

The symbols on the stone door traced themselves with light, and the door slid open.

* * *

_akera: redemption by blood_

She lay on her room bed, staring up into the blankness. The ceiling was a deep burgundy.

The colour of blood.

_Blood—_

She closed her eyes. The flickering ghosts—they were coming again—

Akera blinked, tried to blink them away—but they didn't fade, only grew, steadily…

Why now, of all times?

_Please…no…_

It was pulling her defence apart, strand by strand, helpless—_helpless…_

_No—please! No!_

She yelled a furious protest, shrieking to the ceiling and shutting her streaming eyes…

_No! NO—_

But it was swelling all around her. It was filling her eyes, her heart, the red of flame, blotting the light out…

_Flame. Nothing but flame. Whirling, devouring the wood and cloth and metal, melting the glass. Thundering wood beams, ash and embers showering—flames engulfing her world. Smoke, acrid blackness, charred wood, smouldering ash._

She clawed at her face, clenched her fists so tight they hurt, turning over to bury her face in cloth—

_Two white shapes. A pair of skeletons. The flames parting to reveal the darkened, shattered structures in the rubble. The grinning, blackened skulls—blackened skulls that breathed not, but let flame danced in their eyes…_

The tears were suddenly pouring down Akera's face, pouring down in torrents though she struggled to end them.

_No, please! Stop! STOP—_

But she could only remember, like a horror film playing before her eyes. The truth was unfolding from the dregs of the past, blooming like spots of blood—

_Showering blackness. The sky torn open. A sunset the colour of blood, the colour of the furnace, and the Spirit's Passageway. The black of smoke rising like a death signal, against the calls of the gulls._

It forced itself upon her, deep into her consciousness, like a blade. It drew blood, where blood could be drawn best. It tore her heart into a thousand shreds.

_Absolution… _it was the one word, the only word her thundering heart called out. Freedom was a right of everyone. And freedom she longed—the smiles she longed to smile, the laughter she longed to laugh…

But the world denied her her freedom. Kept screaming her story in her ears. Kept coming, again and again…

…every time…every million times…

_You are just a sinner! You don't deserve absolution—how can you live, knowing this? Die, you _monster_!_

She sobbed into the blankets, wishing that the pain would end. She wept, begging for it to leave her. The longer she lived, the more she wanted to die.

_Dear Goddess, I'm sorry…for…what I've done._

And one truth thundered in her blood and mind. It didn't matter how she cried, how she pleaded—this single, unchanging fact would never be marred.

Her sins would only be erased by her own blood.

_I'm…_

…_sorry…_

…_for what I've done._

Hugging her legs on the crumpled blankets, Akera lay among the folds, tears streaming from her eyes.

It would never end.

_Give up, Akera._

Trapped forever, behind bars of tears and fire.

Weeping, shivering, Akera pulled herself deep into the blankets, and in her ocean of guilt she finally cried herself to sleep.

* * *

_ralinn: waking dream_

The world turned black.

As Ralinn stood, everything was bright again. All she could see was Shirion's concerned expression, and the faint hall lights beyond him.

"Um—I'm fine," she quickly said, blinking.

"Are you very sure?" the Crusader asked in reply, patting her arm. "You look faint—"

"Yes, yes—I'm okay—"

It came again. Darkness swept her off her feet, flooding her brain as she felt a scream swell in her throat.

But thick exhaustion quickly descended on her in her blindness, and her cry faded…

Everything was suddenly peaceful. Ralinn found her consciousness slowly drifting away, into a world of light…

Slowly, the singing began. A light surfaced, its song clear and sweet, soft and bright.

"_Once a daughter of the springtime,_

_I now walk across the snow_

_Helpless, I am so uncertain—_

_So much left to live and know."_

Her voice, sweet and lonely, somewhat unsure. But beautiful in a way. Haunting, and innocent—

"_Ralinn!"_

The light drew away as quickly as it had appeared, and just as suddenly as everything vanished, Ralinn found everything coming back. The feeling returned to her limbs, and she found herself facing the ceiling in Shirion's arms, his eyes narrowed in worry.

"Ralinn!" he exclaimed again. "Are you _sure _nothing's wrong?"

Ralinn had to first get over her embarrassment of finding herself in that position. Quickly she stood, trying to hide her furious blush. "No—just a song…she's near…"

"Near?" Pulling back, Shirion glanced around at the crowded lounge. "You mean, the next member?"

"I don't know! It just came…" Sighing, they began to walk back towards the rooms. "There's no way we'll know who it is. Let's just hope that we don't miss her," she murmured. "Please let it work out—"

* * *

_zethis: first time_

It wasn't possible, was it?

This girl, this young Cleric, had already reached farther into his life than anyone else ever had.

Was it normal? Was he imagining?

Somehow, he could feel her working within him, uncovering the veils of fear and self-consciousness—barriers that had always shielded him from the rest of the world. It was such a strange feeling, being so comfortable in another person's company.

Maybe that was normal, feeling safe around someone else.

But was it also normal that he wanted to stay by her side forever? Was it normal that he had begun to love her company so much?

Zethis didn't understand this—as he stood facing this tower garden in the spring wind, he could feel it running through his heart_._

He felt _right _when she was there.

_Why? I've only known her for minutes!_

Ketara was burying the seed in the flowerbed. The party leader stepped away, lifting his prided Maple Berit Spear from its carrier on his back.

There was a light in the soil. Zethis held his breath—but only a Nependeath sprung up, thrusting its flower-bud head into the air.

Ketara gave the plant a few little pokes, dodging the seeds it spat. Then there was a glimmer of light, an explosion. A roar shook the ground, something suddenly swelling—a dark shape in the light—

The air began to hum again. Then, with an explosion, Papa Pixie appeared.

The sky of the false world was shining blue and white.

"Attack!" The Dragon Knight's command instantly set off the blazing skills, which burst to life all around—arrows, shining with the strength of the sun, throwing stars and red flames, head-on attacks that exploded with golden power—all raging towards the great pixie as it whirled around, sending off barrages of sun-coloured spells in every direction.

In that instant, the garden became a battlefield.

"Well, let's go!" the Cleric exclaimed enthusiastically, pulling Zethis quickly forward into the battle. Her staff flared with light, the arrows of moonlight soaring and singing swiftly through the wind. Strengthened by the sound of her voice, he raised the mace, gave a cry of determination, racing forward with his weapon shining.

Burning sparks of gold and white blasted the creature wherever he struck. Ketara's attacks joined his, and like Zethis, the flames were white-hot golden, filled to the brim with brilliant strength.

Stars spun from a corner, each of Telida's Lucky Sevens cutting straight into the boss' flesh with booms of redness. Flashes of violet were accompanied by raging Fire Arrows from the other end of the garden, streaks of blazing orange that flew from Turino's burning bow, streaming across the monster's skin with furious energy.

It would be a long battle before the creature was subdued. Papa Pixie seemed unfazed by every attack they made, the agile arms shielding each one off. But nevertheless, it made room for more attacks to be slotted in.

Quickly, they took the formation of a circle. _Just like the necromancers, _Zethis thought, smiling at the irony. Turino stood on the far left end, Raydan launching bolts from the stone parapet, Telida to the right with her deadly throwing stars. And in the middle of the garden stood Zethis, Ketara and the Cleric girl.

There was only the creature before Zethis now, as he gathered strike after strike in his mace, thrusting everything forward every two moments. The strength of the Goddess drifted all around them in this tower, the shining skies sending Her blessing down like showers of sunlight. And he pulled his focus away from everything else, filled his mind with _only _the monster, throwing all his passion into striking forward—forward—

If only he had seen the Death Pixie from his left, wand out. But it was already too late when he suddenly felt blazing heat blast him in the side, and throw him down upon among the flowers, at the Cleric's feet, his entire side stinging with blazing pain.

He cried out, the world flashing. Instantly, her eyes shifted away from the battlefield, the light in her staff dying as she gasped out in terror.

"Zethis!" she yelled, kneeling. He barely saw her hand reach for his side, her staff glow green, the fresh light rising all around him…

It felt so wonderful. His eyes never left as she reached out to help him stand, smiled at him with relief—until they turned to the battle, in unison.

_She's…amazing._

The thought suddenly made him blush, moments before Papa Pixie's next spell began on its course straight for the two of them. He glanced once at the Cleric. "Power Strike!" he yelled, dissipating the attack with a swing of his Knuckle Mace. He narrowed his eyes on the old monster's belly, grip growing tight—

Why did he feel so wonderful? It was like every joy in the world had been bestowed upon him, in that instant of blessed ecstasy. It felt so easy now. The battle was in the sky, in the surreal, distant garden of another world.

It wasn't much. As long as _she _was there, it was nothing at all.

The White Knight couldn't help his smile. He charged forth, thrusting the mace, in all its burning glory, straight into Papa Pixie's pale belly.

And its eyes rolled with its final roar. Zethis stepped back, panting. The monster's white body suddenly crumbled into pale dust, shattering on the flowers and fading away.

He gave a call of victory, everyone ceasing their attacks, instantly running to where he stood, to congratulate each other. Only the twins still looked on at the empty flowerbed, strange calm and nonchalance written on their faces.

"Hey, good job," Raydan said loudly, slapping him on the back. Zethis jumped. "Well done, hm? You were great today!"

Zethis didn't feel like celebrating. There was only one thing he could think of now.

He turned to the Cleric. She was conversing nervously with the others, and he suddenly dared not to call her. Nervously he stood there, clasping his hands together.

"Thanks for joining us!" Ketara exclaimed happily, patting her on the shoulder. She smiled, glancing suddenly at Zethis, who waited in the corner.

"It's been my honour," she replied distractedly—did he only imagine that regret in her voice? Was her smile vaguelyrueful? Everyone turned in the direction she was looking. He felt his face flush.

But his eyes were only for that girl in their midst, the girl whose _name _he didn't know. The first person who had ever made him feel so sure of himself…

"Well done," Eak said while Zethis felt his feet leave the ground. He glanced about, found nothing around him except the sky. The empty, lonely sky. Inside him, he felt his heart well up with beautiful forlornness.

In moments, they were standing within the gate of the real world. There was only faintly the sound of conversation from the deserted streets beyond, the murmurings of the necromancers who didn't yet know that they had already exited.

"There is not much time now," the cloud sounded urgent. "I can grant you a spell of invisibility for exactly five minutes—no more and no less. Make haste, congratulations, and good luck."

Ketara glanced around at the rest. "Back to the inn in five minutes, alright? Have a safe journey, miss!"

The girl nodded back, her sweet smile suddenly hurting in his heart more than it ever had, more than _anything _ever had….

"Um—goodbye," he murmured, trying to maintain eye contact, but failing miserably. "I'll—miss you…"

To his shock, she suddenly leant forward and gave him a terribly tight hug. "I'll miss you too!" she replied from behind his ear. "You should learn to talk more!"

Zethis nodded quickly, hoping she would let go before he died of either embarrassment or suffocation. She did, finally. But suddenly he wanted her to do it again.

"Well, alright then," Ketara said to the cloud beside him. "We're ready for your spell."

In the wind, Chamberlain Eak circled them with a trail of light. Everyone around him began to fade away—and when he looked at his own arms, they too were turning invisible.

He glanced once more at where the Cleric had once stood, but now there was only emptiness there. Eak had vanished. His time was already running.

Remembering Ketara's instructions_—"Back to the inn in five minutes!"_—the White Knight raced through the open gates. Again, with a pang of regret, he thought of the Cleric girl.

_Thank you so much… _he thought, pausing when he realized that he didn't know what to call her.

_And if only I knew your name—then I'd know whom to thank._

It made him so sad, to know that their paths had parted, just like that. But in his mind, the image of her smile was still imprinted, the image of a petite figure in beautiful pink robes, brown hair waving in the wind.

And as he ran, he carved the image permanently into his heart. An image of a girl holding her Petal Staff, her smile filled with a joy that would last forever.

* * *

_ralinn: vanishing_

As Ralinn arrived at her room, she screamed.

Everything was fading, fading at the edges like a painting drenched in water.

The world was emptying before her eyes. The door was draining away, like liquid out of a dish—the lights were turning into hollows everywhere, the ceiling stretching on into blackness…

Again she shrieked in terror. Her hands and feet were unfeeling; she shivered though there was no wind, no cold where she was. There were faces, melting into the sky. They were stretched and screaming with her, rising like cruel ghosts from every tile.

The ends of the corridor were sliding away. The ceiling was the night sky, black and white, colourless…and the white was suddenly disappearing as well…

Everything was turning in to a formless grey slush. Ralinn fell to her knees, crying out in despair, the thick liquid pooling all around her. What was happening to her? Where was everything going? _Everything…everything…_

It was vanishing. The gold and wood, and stone and lights—they were melting, like a thick grey glacier, mashed into the darkness in unstoppable sublimation…

"RALINN! _RALINN!"_

The greyness flashed away.

Suddenly everything was back. The ground was suddenly solid and cold. She was panting, lungs burning as if she had just run for miles. And there were tears, blurring the walls and the torches that lit the suddenly linear, unshaken corridor.

Shirion was trying to pull her to a standing position. He looked terrified—his eyes were filled with worry as his powerful grip brought her to stand before him.

Ralinn was swept by dizziness, moments after she returned to her feet. The floor was whirling like a merry-go-round, flashing with fancy lights.

Suddenly, she doubled over and began to throw up. On and on she went, sick to the stomach, nausea returning the urge again and again.

"Ralinn!" the Crusader gasped, holding her shoulders from behind, his warm grip bringing her just a little stability. "Ralinn! Are you alright? Really? Do you need some rest?"

"—Urghh…" she replied, withstanding the next wave of nausea. "S-sorry. Thanks…just need—rest, yes…"

Wordlessly, Shirion helped Ralinn into her room. She managed to smile despite the fetid taste on her tongue, and in moments, she was lying on her blanket, breathing deeply.

"Hope you're…okay?" the Crusader asked, touching her forehead as he placed a bottle of water in her right hand. She nodded slowly, uncapping it to drink. "I'll—go now then…"

"P-please stay," she replied voicelessly. The images were flashing through her mind, images she never wanted to see again.

"I'm…scared. I saw weird things just now. Please stay here."

"Alright…"

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply again. What was the meaning of that daydream? It gave her a horrible feeling, like something bad was about to happen. It couldn't simply have come like that, without reason…

Ralinn felt warmth on her hand. She opened her eyes a crack, and vaguely saw Shirion, eyes trained deeply on her face, his fingers brushing hers carelessly.

Instantly she felt her heartbeat double, the blush growing in her face, breaths growing uneven.

_Stop it. Stop it!_

He was smiling now. Smiling, dreamily…

_Shirion? I…hey…_

Suddenly, it made her feel safe. Through the warmth of his hand, she knew that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. And for the security he gave her, she finally dared to close her eyes, allowing the sleep she needed to come at last.

_"Ralinn. Ralinn…I'm sorry…"_

The voice reached into her mind. Ralinn glanced up, certain that she would see someone there. Yet there was nothing but a great light, a shining presence that revealed nothing to her. In it, she could almost imagine clouds floating, a blue sky and a lake beneath—but again, it was no more than a dream.

And slowly, her voice came, almost tearful.

_"Ralinn, she has left. I can bend fate no longer, to cross your paths. Your journey…your journey has come to an end…"_

Ralinn found her mouth opening with shock. _End? As in—end here?_

"_I do hope it can go on someday. But it ends here. I'm sorry...I'm sorry for wasting five years of your life…"_

"But—but it's important, isn't it?" she cried out. "Won't you find a way to bring us there? Won't you find a way to end our troubles?" Tears were already streaming down her cheeks, tears that vanished even before her hands could rise to wipe them away. "It _can't _just end here! Please—"

_"I'm sorry," _it repeated, fading slowly, slowly into the blue horizon. _"I have let the world down. But I will find another way. I promise…"_

The light was gone. She was falling through the sky, into an emptiness she could never understand or know again. It was going, the world seeping away through a corner, to leave her void and hopeless…

Ralinn's eyes opened. The light was yellow, and the dreams were shifting away like mist under the sun. Only the ceiling now filled her vision, deep red wallpaper that suddenly threw her back into the reality of the waking world.

At once Shirion stood. "Hey, it's been an hour. You feel fine now?" he asked. Then his eyes widened. "Why are you crying? Did you dream of something again?"

Blinking, the Ranger realised that her vision was blurred. She wiped her eyes, surprised to find real tears there, and sighed. "I'm fine. But…I have really bad news." The Crusader glanced back at her instantly. "We have to end our quest. We lost her. We can't go on. From now, Orion's Belt is disbanded."

Shirion took only moments to take in the shock. He blinked once, twice, lowered his gaze. "Oh…"

Ralinn tilted her head with a smile. "Did you really like our company that much?" she asked, rather glad.

He looked up again, blinking, then turned his gaze back to the floor. "Well…yeah, I guess…"

"Don't worry about it. I'm disbanding our guild, so you have the freedom to go wherever you want. I know how much this journey is tiring everyone."

As he watched the sadness grow in his eyes, she wanted so much to say, _I'll miss you too—_but she was just too _shy_.

Why so?

Packing her clothes back into her bag, Ralinn felt the taste of regret fill her mouth. How much she had hoped that she could make a difference to the world…

She almost laughed, as she pushed the shampoo into the side pocket of her bag. Ten people? The ten of _them? _What would be lost by this ending? Someone else would rise to take the duty.

"_I will find another way. I promise…"_

Those words reassured Ralinn, just a little. She smiled, as she cleared the bedside table of her remaining belongings, tied her bag of mesos to her belt, and turned to face Shirion again.

"Why don't you go pack up," she called over to him. He nodded blankly. "Don't be so sad! You've become a happier person already—and at least now, you and Akera can finally get back to that journey you planned!"

"Um…yeah. Alright. I'll see you in a few minutes, at the lobby, okay? We need to break the news."

She nodded, smiling. He waved once, vanished through the door—but the air was still filled with misery, long after he was gone.

* * *

_ketara: incomprehensible_

She seemed to want nothing to do with him anymore. It was too obvious, the way she shifted away when he tried to talk to her, every time he met her eyes.

Ketara couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. One moment, she could be listening to his every word, following him wherever he went. And at the next, she would be glaring at him, ignoring everything he uttered.

_Is it me? _he asked the air._ Is it something that I once did? _

As they waited in the lobby of the inn for the other three to appear, the Dragon Knight glanced once at Telida.

She returned the gaze sharply, stood, and walked towards him.

"L-Lida?"

She fixed him with a terrifying glare, coal-black eyes glimmering, nothing like the girl he had known just a year ago. "Just who I wanted to talk to—"

"Save your breath, stupid!" she yelled back. Everyone turned. "Don't try to fool me anymore with that attitude! I know you hide motives—and too well, too! I'm not going to fall for them anymore!"

Every word felt like a dagger, each one making his heart hurt.

_Telida? Telida—why?_

But it was only presumptuous of him to believe her wrong. Perhaps he _was _acting in the wrong way…

"Get lost, okay?" Her words went on mercilessly. "I wish I hadn't trusted you so much—just get _out _of my life!"

He blinked and didn't speak another word. In the same moment, Ralinn appeared at the lobby door, her bag over her shoulder, Shirion and Akera following after.

"What—we're going _already_?" Turino's voice was full of complaint.

Ralinn only smiled, and Ketara couldn't help but pick up the silent submission in her eyes.

_Ral—_

"I've got something to tell you," she finally began, coming to a stop before the group. Raydan finally fell silent. "I'm glad for the time we've spent doing this. But—we can no longer carry on with our journey."

Around Ketara, in the cool air of the lobby, no one spoke. He could feel the shock slowly sinking in.

The end of the journey—no travel. No exhaustion.

No purpose.

What then? Work towards his fourth job? How, when everywhere there were necromancers waiting to end him?

Helplessly, he glanced around at the friends he had made. It was such a wonderful feeling, having friends to follow wherever he went. It had been amazing, knowing that he had some purpose in the world…

"So," the guild leader said, her eyes sparkling all of a sudden in the strange, echoing silence among them. "I would like to thank you for making this journey so meaningful. You have been the greatest travel companions—"

She held back a sob, but Ketara could tell that it was an understatement. Beside her, Shirion touched her shoulder as she smiled her tears away.

Turino seemed heedless of her tears. "My third job!" he exclaimed. "It's about time! I wish I hadn't forgone it last time. This is such a hindrance, being so _weak_!"

Ketara glanced around at the rest. "I really want to stay in one place, really," he said. "Does anyone else want to stay here too? I need company…"

"I guess _I _can," Shirion replied, to the Dragon Knight's elation. "It's probably the best thing we can do right now. I heard that there are some good hunting places in the clouds—this looks to be quite interesting."

"Where are you going, Ralinn?" Telida asked.

"Back…home, I guess—oh, which brings me to the subject of travel," she replied. "Look at this." She opened her bag and produced a folded brochure. "I got this off the information counter."

_Secret boat service, _it found it rather surprising—that there was actually one! Well, it would certainly make things easier for everyone.

"Great, hm?" Ralinn continued. "We'll all be leaving for it soon. Whoever wants to can follow."

"I'll go to Kerning as well," Telida suddenly cut in. "But not with _you_. I'll be alone. I want my third job." The Assassin never smiled, her look of savage determination almost terrifying.

Turino glanced down. "I—er…need someone to show me around Ellinia…"

"Akera," Ralinn instantly replied. She looked up, eyes widening with horror. "While you are still in my guild, and I am your leader, you _will _follow my instructions—so show Turino how to get around."

The Mage glanced desperately about, particularly at Shirion. She breathed deeply, narrowing her eyes angrily. _"FINE! _Stupid orders, stupid system—I'm _glad _we're breaking apart!_"_

Everyone was silent. The air was filled with tension—abnormal tension. Everyone seemed a little edgy today—a bad thing, Ketara was beginning to realize.

"Get a life, _Akera_!" Turino growled in reply. "No one's going to _sit around _listening to your every complaint! _I'm _not insisting you help me. But if _you _half cared, you _would_! Or are you just too _spoilt _to do that?"

Akera could only glare on at him, her rage growing slowly. But his eyes were burning, this inexplicably crazy drive behind his every word becoming greater and greater.

"And it just shows how bratty you can get—killing your parents out of anger! Who would ever do something like that, besides _you_?"

Her eyes flashed, burning with ire. Fiery, so terrible that everyone froze—thoughts, words, every motion.

She stood, her eyes growing brighter, brighter with raging tears. Tears that swelled and slid down her cheeks, the air itself shimmering and shaking like a mirage around her.

Something fell to pieces. Something that made the world burn away.

With a scream like a demon's cry, the words left her mouth.

"_IT WAS A MISTAKE! A mistake, you IDIOT!"_

Akera screamed at the black-haired mage. The woman at the counter turned in alarm. But still she cried, clenched hands suddenly filled with vicious, passionate fire—

The shadows grew. The crackle turned into thunder.

The stones slowly melted away.

Ketara could only watch, eyes turning blind, as flames gathered themselves in a deadly arrow-beam and tore across the lobby, straight into _his _heart—

No one had ever thought it possible to hear him give such a cry. But Turino's next exclamation was wrought with excruciation, dwindling rapidly into a drawn-out gasp, as he sank to the ground in flames. His breaths, turning into formless pleas for life, for reprieve—and it made his heart thunder…

"_Akera!_" Ralinn gasped, turning with newfound terror, as Zethis scrambled quickly to catch the Wizard. "Zethis—Zethis, is he alright?"

Somewhere beside him, Ketara heard Telida give a sniff of disdain. At that point, the Dragon Knight couldn't think; he was still making sense of the events that had just slipped by before his helpless eyes.

Zethis glanced up at Ralinn, eyes filled so overwhelmingly he looked like he was about to cry. "He—I don't think he's breathing—"

Minutes later, they had rushed Turino down to the medical clinic, the mage fighting with everything within him to keep his grip on life.

Within the white-walled, sweet-scented room at the lowest level, everything was tranquil. The pale Fire Poison Wizard looked almost dead under the bed sheets, his midnight-black hair falling over his closed eyes, drenched in sweat.

Never before had anyone seen him look so vulnerable—and it was terrifying. He had always been so feared among them—but now, here he lay, defenceless and injured, tears on the edges of his eyelids…

"He's alright, isn't he?" Ketara quickly asked the nurse. "He'll recover? We—really do need him…"

She blushed under his intense gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yes—yes, he was lucky," she responded. "Quick response is crucial, in cases like this…" Distractedly, she carried on with her duties after he smiled and thanked her.

"Oh…man," Raydan whispered once she had departed. "He…looks dead. And I'd normally be glad for that… But somehow, I'm sorta—worried…"

Zethis had been daydreaming again—at that point, he blinked and turned back to Raydan. "Did you…say something?"

Raydan smiled widely. "Thinking about that girl again, aren't you," he said, amused. Zethis flushed deeply, glancing quickly back at Turino. The knight's expression made Ketara smile himself—quickly, he looked to the mage resting on the bed.

"Hm…when do you think he'll be okay?"

"The nurse said that he'll be conscious soon," Ralinn replied. "But recovery—he'll take some time. Few days, maybe."

"Well, too bad for Akera then," Raydan said, shaking his head.

"Oh, right—I guess she'll have to—"

Suddenly she heard a complaining groan from the bed, and all four turned. "I'm fine, alright?" Turino shouted, glaring at the guild leader from under the blankets. He winced suddenly as he rose, clutching his front. "No, _really—_just go without me, okay? If Akera isn't happy about it, let her have her way."

_Wow, this isn't like Turino at all,_ Ketara realized. He _never_ acceded to the requests of others. Perhaps he was in a lot more pain than was apparent—and it was muddling up the way he was thinking.

"Get well soon, alright?" the Dragon Knight responded, smiling and patting his shoulder. The returning frown was to be expected—but at least he wasn't shouting. Which was good enough.

He turned to realize that Ralinn was already departing, and so he quickly followed after. Raydan was chattering away with his sister on their plans, so Ketara went over to Zethis and struck up a brief conversation.

Moments later, as they passed through the door, Ketara saw someone approaching.

Akera.

Her eyes were still red from crying, and she wasn't accompanied. Ketara glanced once at her, and at the brokenness behind that angry gaze was suddenly so apparent, so painful.

Her words, full of passion and guilt, began to whirl in his mind again.

_Akera…?_

They walked on past her, but not a word was exchanged, as her icy gaze crossed them one by one. Ralinn ignored her altogether—it was as if she didn't trust the Fire Poison Mage anymore.

Taking his eyes away, Ketara quickly caught up with the rest of the group, still wondering how much pain she _really_ held in her heart.

* * *

_turino: fire_

As he watched the group depart, Turino found his thoughts going back to the moment it had all happened—the flames, the fury, the pain.

Again he felt the almost-unbearable sting of his burn. He should be hating Akera to bits by now! She had almost killed him out of sheer irrationality. He should be wanting to get back at her for what she had done—

But no. It wasn't so. Somehow, it had finally made him understand.

There is something special about fire made by a human heart. Fire is drawn up from rage, from fury, from pure anger. And in every flame of Mage's fire, there will be a part of the human's soul left there.

The moment when that flame had struck Turino and burnt him, he had suddenly felt it all—that part of Akera's soul that was inseparable from the fire she made. That part, that held so much rage and frustration, it had almost killed him.

Was that what she put into every spell? Was it this anger that had changed her so, left her broken the way she was? Never once had he ever realized that she felt _bad _about killing her parents. He had always thought she had done it without any qualms.

He had been wrong, hadn't he. Now he didn't hate her. In fact, he had finally found someone worthy of his respect.

_Respect? Hah, since when did I respect people? _

But the thought of Akera only managed to bring surprising honour. For he wondered how a single person could carry so much with her, all the time—how she could still live, and not destroy herself with the pain—

Turino looked up at the sound of a throat being cleared. Suddenly coming face to face with her again seemed to bring everything full-circle—his anger, his honour, his uncertainty about her, and all of a sudden…

"I'm—sorry, okay?" Akera suddenly yelled out from where she stood at the end of the bed, folding her arms. He glanced up, instead, at her dyed hair, and again wondered at how beautiful it was…

"I shouldn't have…" she murmured. "_Ah_, there's no point!" The Mage kicked the bedpost and turned away, long white hair fluttering.

Turino found himself amused. "It's _so_ hard for you to apologise, isn't it," he replied. "Not unexpected. Brat." That made her whirl around again, her icy glare so fierce it actually frightened him a bit.

"SHUT UP! I came to apologise, and I've done that! So be content, alright?"

He smiled slightly, rising despite the pain in his chest. "I understand now," he responded, in a rare moment of emotion. Then quickly his eyes narrowed, familiar hate stirring in his heart at the sound of her voice. "—But I still hate you, okay? You just threw a tantrum to make everyone sympathise, didn't you?"

She blinked and looked down.

Without hearing, he knew that her answer was "no". But she didn't say so. All she did was scowl at him and turn away, her blue Mage robes swishing.

Turino shrugged and lay back down. But he continued to watch through half-closed eyes as she departed angrily—the troubled, suffering, amazing spirit hidden behind blue eyes.

And how beautiful she was. How strange…

* * *

_telida: descent of acceptance_

The morning was golden bright, but Telida didn't see. In the shadow of the stones, her solitary climb towards the snows went on. She had a ship to catch that night—and it would be a long climb down.

Again she turned to the snows, breathing deep the sweet air from the snows. Sentinels swarmed the entire interior of Orbis Tower, and there was no possible safe path within it.

Telida had worked out that she could get to the bottom either by jumping, or by climbing down the outside—and she figured that climbing would give her a much higher survival rate.

The cool snow winds made her smile as she paused momentarily. There was no one left to distract her from her thoughts, and they were slowly settling in the stillness. Finally, for the first time, she could tell what exactly she thought of everything around her.

_Ketara is so fake, _she thought to herself, sniffing. _I'm glad I'll never see him again. And Turino is the biggest idiot in the world. I hope I never meet them again._

Watching the thin blanket of clouds fade away into the morning, she resumed her descent. She had a deadline to keep; she had to reach the secret jetty by twilight. Sighing, she felt all her troubles flow away into the icy spring wind.

* * *

_raydan: last road_

Shimmering waves of cold were sweeping down the tiles of ancient stone all around him. Around them, the guardians were still being charged at the waiting points, inactive in the depths of night. It was in this time that Ralinn had chosen for them to make their move.

The mist parted slowly in their wake, and all around only the dim shapes of spherical sentinels were visible under Turino's hazy firelight.

Their footsteps were hurried, both Ralinn's and his; the jetty was only a shadow on the brink of the icy snows. In the early summer, the snows would be thawing anywhere else in the world. But El Nath was in perennial winter, like the inside of a snow globe, and the snow never faded in this realm.

Behind them, in the shadows, the footsteps of the two mages were subdued and gradual. None of the four spoke, as the ice jetty and the stand rose into view in the bleak morning.

"Do you even _care_ that you're getting your third job?" Raydan muttered, half expecting Turino not to hear.

"None of your business." His annoyance was enough to silence the Sniper, and he continued to follow Ralinn.

It was four o'clock already, and the ship was already waiting. Even Raydan couldn't keep the anticipation from his actions, as they raced across the crunching snow of El Nath and came to a stop at the ticket stand beside the silhouette of the ship in the waters.

The icy sea was like a glass mirror, but only the moonlight shone in it. The man at the counter gave them a smile, pleasant despite his crooked teeth. Gosh, _anything _would have looked pleasant, after their encounter with the king's Necromancers.

But he didn't really want to think about those. For now, all he cared for was that they were on their way home. _Home! _He recalled too clearly the warm fireplaces, the smoke-spewing chimneys, the destroyed buildings, the haphazardly-drawn roads that led people astray. He loved that place! He could almost see them all, surrounding him, the already-familiar scent of smoke greeting his nose.

Raydan blinked, almost certain that he was home again—but all there was before him was the lonely biting frost of the deep morning, and the swish of the moonlit tides.

"Come on!" Ralinn exclaimed, a stack of tickets ready in her hands. Her eyes were bright, even in the fading moonlight. He glanced back once at the two mages, their faces cast deep in shadows. They followed after them silently, seeming neither anticipating nor anxious.

It was _really _creepy, in a way. As the Sniper boarded the boat, the deck began to rock. Ralinn had already seated herself somewhere inside. Under the dim light of the early hours, she was only a shadow.

They were alone, just the four travellers—Orion's Belt no more. He had gotten so used to travelling with so many others that this felt almost unbearable—

_Almost unbearable? _

At least it was quiet—there hadn't been a moment like this for a long time. As Akera and Turino sat down at opposite ends of the boat's cabin, Raydan smiled to himself. They were silent, at last.

The boat gave a short lurch, and the gentle splash of water in the night marked the start of their journey back home.

* * *

_lanoré: crisis_

_"Target sighted! Move into formation!"_

Even before the last word had left, they were already everywhere. Appearing from the old carts that lined the roads, from the skeletons of dead trees from a distant time, from the ice-covered rocks that stood silent guardians at the edges of the city—everywhere, staves flaming scarlet like deadly torches, crackling like the deepest hell.

They had almost made it to El Nath—and this had to happen. Beside her, Clynine tensed up.

The circle was forming. The circle—just like before—emerging from empty icy wilderness, necromancers that had hidden too well finally springing the indomitable hunter's snare.

_Trapped._

Lanoré breathed hard, frightened—all too clearly, the times were echoing from the ends of her memory—a similar day, a similar place, a similar event…

The thunder was shaking. The circle was hardening around them—

And she knew, at once, that she couldn't let it be complete.

_"Clynine!"_

The Archmage didn't even have to say what to do. They both knew the only option—the only road away from a life in darkness.

This time, they didn't make the mistake. This time, the snow was open, their feet free.

This time, they ran.

The moment they swerved around and slipped through a weak point in the formation, the commander began yelling, frenzied, and cloaks of black were chasing furiously in the wind. Swiftly, Lanoré cut their path, towards the yetis tethered at the gates. The yetis that would take them away—

"Clynine, don't worry!" she called, the snow whizzing by, the yells rising like a storm around them. Flames of red exploded behind them; she never turned, but sent quick Ice Strikes backwards every few seconds.

Clynine smiled back and nodded, their twin footsteps never slowing, no matter how cold the world was growing, how enraged the flying spells became. They shot across the last feet of snow, the sky behind them—two fugitives, on the line between light and darkness.

The yeti fur was warm and soft. The saddles were trustworthy. The outer fences of El Nath were worn and woody—Lanoré bade them a last, silent farewell.

And then they were swift as the wind, great creatures born and bred for the wild snows—galloping through the rises and hills of the great El Nath that they owned.

Behind them, the necromancers no longer gave chase. Lanoré glanced once back, allowing herself one childish moment—sticking out her tongue—before looking back to the invisible road before them with overwhelming triumph in her eyes.

"Warm El Nath _indeed_. Well, since my home seems suddenly so inhospitable, let's head for yours."

Clynine rode to Lanoré's right, utter fright deepening in her gaze. But she turned at her words, and her mouth fell open, eyes filling up with nostalgia and joy and anxiety.

_Mum…Dad…_ It was all too clear what she was thinking. Lanoré smiled. She would have reached over to pat her shoulder, had she not been holding the reins.

* * *

zethis: charisma

"Unagi? Hm…unagi, unagi, unagi—aha!"

Zethis almost leapt into the air as Ketara went straight for the assortment of eel meat on the shelf. There was the sound of packages knocking against each other, as the Dragon Knight gathered up three dozens of packages, the stack towering higher than his head.

"C-careful with that," Zethis stammered. But Ketara only grinned back and shifted quickly to the counter, hardly daunted by the load he carried. Nervously, the White Knight followed after.

The young lady at the counter was busily distracting herself with a feather duster and her shelves. The instant they arrived, she turned around and blinked at the number of unagi packages Ketara had set down on the counter top.

"Um—we'd like to buy them all?"

She was already scowling at the number of packs, glaring down at them as if they were rotten. "Paranoid idiots!" he heard her mutter. "Can't they just come back for more some other time?" Frightened, Zethis backed away, while she took the first and her barcode scanner gave a beep.

Somehow, though, Ketara seemed unperturbed by her disagreeable expression—or perhaps, he didn't notice it. "These shops sure are more advanced than the ones back at Victoria Island," he commented, leaning against the counter and observing her strange tool.

She looked up with annoyance at his comment. But as her eyes crossed his gaze, she froze. Her frown softened, turned into a shy smile—and she looked down at the unagi again.

"Uh—yeah, we're quite advance—compared to the ones across the sea," she murmured back. She glanced up at her customer again, and flushed gently. "Ours run on magic…"

"Oh, that's cool!"

In no time, they were in rapt conversation, the girl now rapidly passing the unagi packages under her scanner without much thought.

Zethis blinked. _What? How in the world did Ketara—_

"Mmhmm, they're pretty stingy with resources, really," she responded, almost laughing. "We shopkeepers get some privileges—but they still leave us to our own means most of the time." She shook her head, taking another unagi from the now half-sized stack.

Carefully, the White Knight crept up to the counter. "Oh, who's that? Your little brother?" the cashier asked. Ketara shook his head. "Just me then; you look similar in a few ways… And that's thirteen," she commented to herself, her scanner beeping again.

The Dragon Knight shifted to Zethis' side. "Alright, now let's try our luck," he whispered with a smile. As soon as the girl looked up, Ketara returned to the counter front. "Hey, just wondering—would you mind giving us a discount? Say—half price?"

Zethis' jaw dropped at the dubious offer. _No _way_,_ he thought, staring at Ketara as if he were crazy. _She'll never—_

"Okay, why not?" Zethis' jaw dropped a second time. "Or…you could keep quiet, and I'll let you have it all for free…"

Ketara suddenly grabbed her hands and clasped them tightly, practically jumping up and down with his gratefulness, the shopkeeper's face steadily reddening. "Thanks so much! Thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks!"

_If only I could do the same!_

As Zethis thought over his companion's amazing charisma, he realised how much he lacked. Words failed him all the time. He couldn't even _smile _at a stranger! Here, beside him, stood someone with so much nerve and confidence, he seemed almost _godly_.

As Ketara carried the pile of food out of the shop, Zethis followed quickly after, a strange, envious honour filling his heart. Again, he watched the Dragon Knight balance the stack of goods, his hair—deep brown in the bright sun—tossed about playfully by the wind.

"Hm, that was a nice shopkeeper," he commented as Zethis caught up. "Free! Can you imagine? Shirion's gonna be happy—and he's _never _happy!"

"Yeah… I see how you get your discounts," he murmured back. Then he added softly, "I wish I were you."

Ketara glanced back at Zethis, his enchanting, deep brown eyes widening in question. "Really?" He laughed. "I'm—not that great, y'know. But _you_'re considerate, and nice, and awfully adorable—"

But you're so much more than that! Not me. I'm just…me. Yeah, boring—unconfident me. If I were you, that Cleric girl would have noticed me…

Wait—why was he thinking that?

Blushing of his own accord, Zethis trailed after Ketara all their way around the precarious edge of Orbis and the gently clouded skies, struggling to keep up.

_How can someone like that _exist? He wondered. _How do you do it—Ketara?_

* * *

_telida: forlornness and fury_

_Ketara!_

The name suddenly, suddenly shot through her mind, the instant she found herself cornered.

She should _never _have trusted the streets of Kerning.

But now she was here, trapped with a strange man, whose sickening grin and questing hands wouldn't leave her alone.

He chuckled, glancing her up and down, drawing uncomfortably close. "You're a pretty girl," he murmured, as Telida backed away. Straight into a wall. The bricks were rough under her shivering fingers, the dark streetlight from the narrow exit distant, so tantalizingly far…

"You don't know how beautiful you are, do you?" His voice was a ragged gasp now, his smile growing wider. Telida could feel chills creeping across the back of her neck, coldness filling her blood…

"Get lost—"

She gasped as his fingers crept to her arm. From her arm, to her waist.

_Ketara!_

The name was a dying gasp, a parting cry. She thought once of him, and everything began to flood in, everything that made her want to carry on living. His warm smile, his enthusiastic joy, his _realness_—all the things that she had so furiously tossed away…

She had to get out of this—

Her aggressor's rank breath was warm on her neck, his glittering moonlit eyes filled with hunger…

His fingers reached for her shirt.

And something blazed to life within her. She sprang to her feet, swinging out with all the momentum of her body, throwing him down with a crunch against the tarry street.

"I told you to get _lost_!" she screamed savagely. No, she _wouldn't _just let him get away with it like that. That wasn't enough. Not enough. _Not enough._

She shrieked in fury. Claw sank into flesh, neck ripping sinew by sinew—every tear, every scream a price he was obliged to pay.

_Blood! _Her heartbeat screamed. She dug the weapon deeper, deeper, until lifeblood pooled all around his neck and ran from his open flesh like fresh waterfalls. _Blood! _Again, again—her claw struck the tar of the road, straight through the crushed deformity that was his neck. He sputtered, eyes rolling, fading to dullness.

Telida kicked him against the wall, stabbed him thrice in the chest, taking pleasure in the sound of ripping fabric and muscle. At last, appeased, she stood and walked away, her hard breaths suddenly dwindling with exhaustion.

The streetlight brightened hazily as she approached the main street, her shaking legs carrying her back to the most crowded street she could find. Never again. Never again did she want it to happen.

_How empty she felt..._

_"Ketara..."_ Silently, Telida murmured his name, remembering the way he would make a silly joke in a situation like this, the way he would place a gentle arm around her shoulders and keep her walking with his optimism—

"We'll make it. Don't you worry! We'll get to the Fusion Bar, and then we can go have dinner!"

She glanced to her right, saw no one—and her heart sank with coldness.

Telida knew she wouldn't survive another _day _without her best friend at her side.

On through dark streets she trudged, eyes searching tiredly for her destination. Finally, the Assassin's heavy footsteps slowed to a stop.

_Fusion Bar. _The blurred, colourful words overhead brought her a flood of relief. But she was too tired, too weary from loneliness, to enter. So she sat gently down by the doorstep and sighed, eyes closing to the lights above.

* * *

_turino: black, white_

"Hey, stop staring at me like that!" Akera came to a stop, the leaves crunching just moments ago—silent now.

Turino blinked, and turned. "No, I'm not!" he replied. "It's just—your hair's white."

He reached into his pocket, fingering the cold chain, his secret treasure. _She has…white hair…_

"Oh, what an astute observation!" Akera exclaimed back, scowling deeply. "So? Did it take you _that _long?"

"No…"

As he watched her ice blue eyes glimmer in the light from the treetops, Turino played around with the thought. No secret embarrassed him more than this one—but her hair…it was—simply beautiful…

Why shouldn't he tell her, anyway? Perhaps knowing something so personal to him might soften her a little.

"—Can I…have some of your hair?"

Now it was Akera's turn to blink. Realizing how utterly stupid his request sounded, the mage covered his face with his palm, breathing in deeply. "I—like making brushes. And your hair is—white. I wanted to—"

"_What?" _Akera stepped back, clutching her head with obvious disgust. "Make brusheswith _hair_?!"

"Well—not normally _human _hair—but…" Finally he gave a groan of annoyance. "Ah, forget it! Your pretty _hair _is just too precious for you to part with, isn't it?"

"Gross," she responded, turning. Turino glanced away, suddenly caught between utter shame—and soft, growing heartbreak.

_The brushes._ As he fingered them, the small chain of brushes in his pocket, he could see himself again—

Black eyes watching his hands intently, smiling—full of attention and adoration. Curious praise, deep fascination in that soft, familiar voice.

These things…where were they now?

"Hurry up," Akera's soulless low voice made him break out of his short, sorrowful trance. But some of it had already caught hold—for when he responded, he could almost hear the tears in his own voice.

"_Don't hurry me."_

She came to a stop and watched him with frosty blue eyes—but they were no longer cruel or troubled. They were full of concern.

"Turino," she said gravely. "You obviously need to say something. Don't deny it—sit down."

Staring down at Akera in complete disbelief, he did as told—more from shock than intimidation.

_Akera…? She's actually being _nice_?_

The Mage did the same, her pale hair whirling over her shoulders like immaculate silk. Her eyes were intent and bright as they searched his, so very different from what she normally was. How much _did _she understand?

_The tears within the fire. The anguish, the suffering, the guilt._

"Well?" Akera looked expectant now, tilting her head to a side. "Do you trust me with your story?"

Turino looked deep into her eyes—it was like looking into a lake, into the night sky that rested within. The depth, the powerful moving fathoms in those eyes, made him turn away again.

"Yeah…I do. Um…let's just say…I really _do_ care what she thinks of me."

"Who? Your sister?"

"That's it."

Her eyes widened sincerely, and it only made the waves of sadness within him suddenly even stronger. "She… she was important to me, really—"

Carefully, Turino reached into his pocket again, producing the object, his secret—the chain of handmade brushes that had been with him since seven.

"I used to—make these brushes for her," he whispered, hoping desperately that she couldn't see how deep his pain ran. "And she loved them. She loved doing _everything _with me back then! But then…somehow, she suddenly—changed. She started hating me, pushing me away, hurting me—" _No! _His mind yelled the command, for suddenly his tears were on the brink of falling.

_Don't cry, not in front of her—don't—_

"…She doesn't _care _about me anymore! It doesn't matter what I do! Love her, hate her…it's always—wrong…_wrong…_" Rising furiously, clenching his fists, he glared down at the mage, gasping—

"_It's none of your business, alright? Just forget about it all! I don't _want _to remember these things! You don't know—"_

Akera stood as well, so abruptly it made him fall silent, his breaths deep. She said nothing for moments as she reached out to touch his arm, her eyes already full of comprehension.

"I think I do."

Why was this shared moment of pain so strange, and so heartbreaking? Turino felt a single tear escape the corner of his eye, as he let the warmth of her fingers fill his empty soul.

"Hah, at least in your case, you _couldn't _have done anything about it." She turned away with a smile, her voice falling—falling. "But what if—you _could _have?"

She folded her arms, leaning on the tree, still smiling—but her eyes were reddening. "Yeah, _you _don't know _half _the pain of the world, Turino," the Mage went on relentlessly. "You don't know how it feels, to let a mistake take everything away, and have your entire _world _ruined as a result!"

Akera glanced up into the summer light above, eyes narrowed and shimmering with tears. "Don't whine about your pathetic little situation to me, Turino. At least_ you _can still do something about it._ Real _pain—is when you have no chances left, to erase what wrong you've done—to find redemption—the forgiveness you need…to find…"

A soft sob followed those words. All of a sudden, Akera had collapsed among the trees, crying everything out of her, tears staining the lap of her traveller robes.

_Oh, great—what am I supposed to do now? _The Wizard wondered to himself.

"Akera, please get a grip on yourself," Turino replied, standing next to her small, curled figure. Her violent sobs didn't cease. "Don't go wallowing in self pity now, _especially _in my presence."

She sniffed hard again and looked up—her teary glare was sharp and fierce. But instead of yelling back at him, her gaze softened, and she turned away with a sigh. "I'm—sorry."

Her voice made his heart ache.

Standing, Akera quickly wiped the tears from her face. There were a few moments of silence between them, and finally, she looked up.

"You know… You're actually a lot like me," she murmured as they resumed their slow walk towards the secret inn. "You hide so much from the world, and you pretend not to care, so people think you're self-assured and strong."

Turino's eyes widened slightly, at how painfully true her words were…

"I am _not_ like that!"

"—But you actually care, don't you?" she went on regardless. "I know, because it's the same with me. I pretend—but in my heart…I do. I want everything to change. I hate my life the way it is. You do too, don't you?"

This silence was even longer. The Wizard was still contending with surprise—with strange, moving _affection_. She understood—it had taken _this _much for him to realize. She knew how it felt, to hide from the world, the way he did.

"Yeah."

Akera turned to him and smiled gently, and for moments her, she was more beautiful than he ever remembered.

As their journey resumed down the increasingly familiar pathway, their conversation somehow grew more lively. "Don't you _dare _start acting nice to me after today," the female mage commented, not turning. "I'd totally _die _of embarrassment—"

Turino glanced down at his hands, wishing he _could. _But no—no, he couldn't hate her anymore. He couldn't find it within his capacity to hate someone with such humanity, such astute profoundness—even a self-indulgent brat like her.

Not that she actually _cared _for it—she'd probably jump at the chance to be rid of him.

But why did his heart hurt for her, then?

Akera had paused in the midst of a strange little copse of trees. "Turino," she said as he stopped behind her. "Just take some of my hair. At least…it keeps your hope alive."

The Fire Poison Wizard blinked for a few seconds at her sudden offer. Then he took his blade from his shirt pocket and unlocked it, thanking her quietly without smiling. He reached out to take a lock of her hair in his hand—

The instant his fingers closed around her pale hair, Turino glanced into Akera's celestial-blue eyes, and felt a strange current of understanding, trust, _adoration _run deep through his heart.

He realised moments later that he had stopped breathing. Akera raised her graceful eyebrows expectantly, folding her arms. "We don't have all day," she urged bluntly. Blinking rapidly, looking at his hands again, he nodded and sliced a short length of hair from the end.

"I'll—make it while we walk," he said afterwards, holding the silken white strands like the most precious ore in the world. Akera nodded briefly, before they continued their long trek, Turino searching his meso bag for his tools.

This routine suddenly brought back swathes of recollection, of a time when he used to do the same, for someone so dear…

_But I've lost her now—_

"_At least you can still do something about it!"_

He smiled, just a little.

It was so simple that Turino could do it perfectly, even while walking. He never had to take a glance at his hands, as he found the metal fastener, pliers and forceps, and began to work the art that he loved so deeply, secretly.

But now, as he paused and appraised his incomplete brush of silver hair, he decided that something still wasn't right.

The Wizard took his blade again. Cutting some of his own hair off, Turino slipped both tufts into the fastener, side by side—black next to white—and finally, he wound the last wire around his new brush.

This one, somehow, was his most beautiful yet.

* * *

_clynine: the torches_

Ah, the gardens! The night sky was filled with the scent of peaches, for it was summer and the little pink fruits were ripe, lading the trees that stood sentinels on either side of the road. The leaves rustled under the evening wind, all through the town of Mu Lung.

And in the darkness the companions walked—silent, exhausted, relieved. There was a small smile on the Cleric's lips as the familiar road unfolded before them, the sweet peach aroma encircling her like the warmest blanket in the world.

_Home…home! Mum! Dad! Home—!_

The hill was a mere shadow against the empty moonlight-soaked sky. The familiar peak of the mansion rose high from the hilltop, the wind carrying hollow echoes from the sky overhead. The lights were out in Clynine's home.

_They're asleep already, _she thought with amusement. _Just like them! I thought they promised that they'd be waiting for me!_

"Thanks, mistress Lanoré," she whispered, her voice barely higher than the night winds around them. Lanoré turned and smiled, patting her head. Clynine sighed. "When we're back…I'm going to tell Mum and Dad everything. I can't believe I'm home—back home…they're going to be so proud, of how far I've come…"

Were these _tears_ coming to her eyes? The moon was blurred behind them, tears that suddenly appeared when she had thought of the warmth of home, of her parents hugging her, of the familiar walls and cushions and windows…

"Let's be quiet and surprise them," the Cleric's mistress suggested as they arrived at the foot of the hill, the end of a lightless road. Through the gate they passed, down the road through their hilltop garden. They were soon at the doorstep, the towering shape of the mansion making comfort sweep through her heart.

"Come on," Lanoré said. "They probably wouldn't mind."

Clynine nodded and produced the key from her pocket, unlocking the door with a shaking hand. Inside, the entrance hall was empty, the click of the door echoing among the pillars and against the doors. All the servants, too, were apparently asleep; they must have had a tiring day—

The Cleric's heartbeat stopped.

The torches—they were always lit. Whether humid or cold, whether the moon was new or full—the torches of the path were always lit. _Mum was very particular about it—_

_No, no—no…_

She backed out of the entrance hall, out into the moonlight. Turned to gaze down the path—the dark path up which they had come.

Tonight, the torches hadn't been lit.

"Mistress…Lanoré—"

Her voice shook and died before she could finish her sentence. The cold wind swept through the entrance hall, echoing on walls that she couldn't see.

Silent, so silent.

Clynine cried out in terror. She dropped her bag, racing up the spiral staircase—up, up, up to the place where Lanoré had first met her, past it—to the bedrooms, where they should be sleeping silently now…

No time to breathe. In the darkness, her world was awash with sparks of colour—but still she threw the double doors open, panting, heart pounding like thunder…

Empty. Empty, everywhere—scattered furniture, broken mirrors, shadows. Everywhere. Everywhere. Voiceless.

Again Clynine screamed, warm tears slipping suddenly from her eyelids, racing down her cheeks. Footsteps behind her—

She whirled around. Seeing the blurred face of her mistress, she felt everything, her heart, shatter at the seams.

"They—" she gasped to the pale smudge in her vision. "They're—"

Her words faded as the tears caught up again. She collapsed—but Lanoré raced forward, catching her in her arms, just in time.

They had finally been taken. Taken, while she hadn't been home.

"Mum…Dad…you promised you'd be here…when I came back." She gasped, burying her face in the cloth of Lanoré's dress. "You…p-promised…"

They broke their promise. The most important promise of all.

"Clynine, it's alright," her mistress' gentle, broken voice swept those memories away. "Let's go into the garden—maybe your mind will clear up there."

They descended the cold, familiar spiral staircase in the night shadows. Each step was a step away from her world, even though she still stood within her home.

The same aroma of peaches wove around the trees, as the two sat on the silent fountain's edge. And wrapped in the scents of her homeland, Clynine sobbed, sobbed—until she was weeping wretchedly, all over again.

Why had her parents been—taken, merely for being blessed with fortune? What had the king against people like them?

"Clynine," Lanoré whispered again, a soft, strong voice. "Clynine, it's alright. I promise we'll find them again. I _swear_."

Weeping, the Cleric turned to embrace her mistress, tears streaming down her cheeks and into her cloak.

_Mistress, I believe you._

* * *

_ralinn: girl in the garden_

"Pass the pepper please," Ralinn called across the dinner table, trying to ignore the sound of Raydan eating his noodles. For those few moments, she gazed up at the ceiling, where the chandelier cast flowers of light over the whiteness.

Summer was at its end already, and she was nineteen—Raydan, seventeen. But still a noisy eater. Life was amazing without the pressure of her job—and at the same time, it was empty.

Ralinn often wondered how the old members of Orion's Belt were doing. Had Telida gotten her third job yet? Were Akera and Turino still trying to kill each other?

_And Shirion…_ Every time she pondered over the Crusader's whereabouts, her head spun with her overwhelming loneliness. Somehow, being with her family wasn't enough. Something was missing. She wanted _him _around.

_What? _Come on! _I have Mum and Dad! And Raydan! I don't need _him…

"Linn? Hello!" she blinked, to find that Raydan was waving a hand before her eyes. "You've been drifting off a lot since we left the others, you know. Do you, like, miss someone?"

"Uh—no! No!" To her fright, she felt herself blush.

Raydan smirked, folding his arms. "Shirion," he said, with such deep certainty that it made her face flush some more. "Really, since our last day in Orbis—"

"Must you _always _try and play matchmaker in the guild?" she asked with annoyance and embarrassment at the same time.

"What? I didn't say anything about _why _you're thinking about him, Linn!" His smirk widened. "Hm…is that what you think?"

Ralinn thought she might die of embarrassment—

But then, the world darkened, at that very instant. Her parents, Raydan, the lights above—all falling away into a endless pool beneath.

And again, she was standing in a dream. She tensed, heart pounding, anticipating the voice that would come—

The white field vanished, Ralinn finding herself in the middle of a dark garden, the sky full of moonlight and the faint smell of peaches on the wind…

The sobs finally came to her ear, and she turned.

A girl. A girl, crying on the edge of a still fountain, in the middle of a garden of trees and flowerbeds, tears glittering in the moonlight. A young woman beside her, blonde hair beautifully lit and waving in the chilling breeze, arm wrapped around the girl's shoulders—

"_Once a daughter of the springtime,_

_I now walk across the snow_

_Helpless, I am so uncertain—_

_So much left to live and know."_

The song! The same song suddenly echoed through, filling Ralinn's ears. _It was she._ The girl they had missed—the ninth member of Orion's Belt. Here—

And the suddenly, everything was coming back to life. Hope, joy, belief—

In harmony, came the second voice—this one even more powerful and assured. There were two voices now, singing together, every harmony making her joy light up again, just a little—

"_Honoured guardian, blessed spirit,_

_Loved by ice and frost and sky_

_Edge to edge, the paths run distant_

_Hallowed gift of lightning's cry."_

Such beautiful melodies! They danced around the borders of her dream. Ralinn began to walk around in the scene, slowly taking in every detail of this little garden, the place where she would find them—

The flower garden. The peaches. A mansion on a hill.

_Mu Lung—_

Something like the joy of another heart breaking seemed to touch the world, a whispering cry of happiness. And at once, the picture began to fade into the recesses of her mind—but the beauty lingered like a magical afterimage, the taste of elation still sweet on her tongue…

"Hey! Linn! _Linn!"_

Raydan's familiar voice suddenly replaced the song, the bright warm yellow of the chandeliers and the scent of her dinner brightening swiftly. "Sorry! I didn't mean to make you faint by saying that! Please, Linn—"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Dan," she answered, blinking, glancing to her parents and back to Raydan. Her heartbeat was growing rapid. "But—I've got news, everyone. We've got the job again."

Her brother's eyes widened. "Again? Like…it's only been three months! And I'm tired…"

"And isn't three months enough?" Ralinn's mother replied suddenly. "I do want you around—but I know this isn't one of your games anymore. It's important, and I'm glad you came. But you should go now."

Ralinn stood up, frozen—then ran around the table to hug them both.

"Thank you so much—I promise we'll be back again," she gasped out, holding her mother as if she were hanging on for life. And it certainly felt so!

She glanced back at Raydan, who was back to slurping noodles. "We must go, alright? We have to do it, for everyone!"

Raydan looked up, scowling. But the Ranger could only smile on, at this little brother who could _never _resist her pleas—

Then his gaze softened, and he sighed. But he was smiling

The night was windy and cold, as if pre-empting her journey. Ralinn lay on the bed, sleep drifting down on her.

The ceiling and the world faded into an imaginary sky that made her heart soar. Before her, there were nine lights, again—nine lights, just as there had been in the beginning.

Nine lights, nine different temperaments, each singing its own song.

But she took little time to appreciate them this time. "Meet in Mu Lung—a mansion on a hill," the ex-guild leader shouted, running into their midst. The songs stopped; the souls turned to face her.

"We must all meet in Mu Lung," she repeated, smiling brighter. "Our last two members are there! Orion' Belt is back—we've got the job again! Meet me, okay? Remember, a mansion on a hill!"

The songs exploded into full-fledged joy, calling out—unfurling the most colourful tunes in the world. Almost crying with joy and excitement, Ralinn saw the bright dream vanish, ordinary dreams rising to replace them—

But it had begun. She knew it had begun, and that thought filled her heart for the rest of the night.

* * *

In the gentle light of the early summer morning, Telida rose from her bed in a thieves' hideout. The Dark Lord himself had taken her here—and they had gladly let her in, upon hearing his request.

The words from her dream were still clear and fresh in her memory—and recalling made her smile.

_Orion's Belt is back—we've got the job again! _

Back. The faces of her old friends flashed by, and she smiled, leaping from the bed.

"Telida," a senior thief named Dalran called, holding a frying pan over the makeshift stove. "Eggs again? Or do you want to try my new specialty?"

"No, no breakfast today," she replied, turning away and walking straight to the shower.

"B—but I really wanted you to try my new veggie dish—"

"I have to go," Telida said. "My old friends are waiting for me." She accompanied those words with a small smile.

"But how in the world did they contact you?! You didn't get any letters—"

"A voice told me in my dreams."

While they all stared at her incredulously, she snatched up her clothes and entered the shower, slamming the door shut.

_Back again! _

Telida never thought she'd be so glad to see that lot. How could she have hated Ketara before? Right now, she wanted nothing more than to hear her best friend's voice again.

* * *

In the branches, Akera gazed up at the morning sky. The words she had heard last night—

Were they truly being called together, again?

_Shirion…_

She had thought they'd never meet again. The two of them had done so much together, it had become almost second nature for her to call his name every time she wanted to talk.

But of course, the only person with her now was Turino—who was always either being extremely quiet, or extremely moody—never in the mood to talk.

_Shirion, I'm coming! _Her mind cried out, as she gazed up through the leaves of the late summer. _I miss you more than you'd think. I miss exploring Ellinia with you…_

These were words that she would never, ever speak out loud. Akera kept them away, in a little pocket next to her heart. And as Turino finally arrived with the return tickets, the Mage took them, sighing secretly to herself.

* * *

The three warriors sat at breakfast in Ketara's room—he was the only one who didn't mind them making a mess on the floor.

Though he_ was _the only one making a mess anyway.

"Did you dream of Ralinn's voice last night?" the Dragon Knight suddenly piped up, glancing around at the other two. Both nodded. "Isn't it awesome? We'll see them again! I hope Telida's not angry with me anymore—and the rest! Oh man—I can't wait!"

Shirion smiled. "I look forward to it," he replied, gazing on at the blank wall beyond. "Three months…and yet I already feel empty."

Zethis said nothing. But in his eyes, there was hope—and he could already see it, the path they now took.

* * *

_full circle_

_The roads led across the autumn, towards the last meeting point._

_In an empty house far away, two friends lived in silence, wishing for the best._

Ralinn had been asking around in the outskirts, about this mansion on a hill. Everyone seemed to know it, and pointed the same way. Raydan hadn't been very helpful so far, picking fruits off random bushes on the roadside during the journey, and enjoying them guiltlessly.

By midnight, they had finally made it there—the instructions had been so clear that she couldn't possibly have misinterpreted them. Catching her breath on the night wind as they came to a stop, the Ranger gazed up at the silhouette of the magnificent structure atop the hill. A row of burning torches marked the path to the door.

"That is one cool house," her brother murmured from beside her—

A cry of excitement made them both whirl around. Ralinn blinked a few times, a smile spreading across her face—

Laughing, she raced up to the three youths who approached—Ketara who ran with such spring in his step, Zethis trailing after him, Shirion walking steadfastly behind the two, a silent smile coming to his eyes.

The Crossbowman greeted his best friend enthusiastically, and instantly fell into excited conversation. Ketara exclaimed an greeting—but Ralinn could do nothing more than nod to him, for she wanted so badly to hear Shirion's voice again—

"Um…how's life been?"

"Ah…with Ketara, Zethis and the necromancers around, one can never be bored," he replied, absently reaching to touch her wrist. "But…nothing's really the same, without the guild—without you."

Ralinn tried not to read too much into his words. She turned around to see Raydan grinning at her, and quickly she fought down her embarrassment.

And another call, of Shirion's name—

It was Akera—when Ralinn turned, she saw the two Mages headed in their direction, a wide gap between them. Akera called out again, and Shirion waved.

Somehow, it made Ralinn's heart sink to see him smile.

The conversation had grown lively with the latest addition. Now there was only Telida left, and Ralinn watched the road, folding her arms in anxious silence—

"Miss me?"

The Ranger leapt into the air at the sudden exclamation behind her—she turned—

"_Telida! _How in the world—"

"Dark Sight, always useful." She smiled. Then the thief's attention suddenly slipped away, and she glanced about …

Moments later, Telida had run off. And moments later yet, there was a high cry of _"Ketara!"_, before the two leapt into the tightest, happiest embrace she had ever seen.

"How've you been, you idiot?" the Hermit asked, to which Ketara laughed and wound his arms tighter around his best friend. "Sorry, okay? You _are _a great friend, and I really missed you! How's life?"

"Alright—but not as alright as when _you _were there—" his gasped reply was stopped short by her returning hug. "Aughhh—air—_Lida—_"

How much happier she was nowadays, Ralinn noted with a silent smile. All she had needed was a friend…

"You two look like you're going to kiss each other!" Raydan exclaimed, to which they both turned, and Telida yelled in furious, sincere protest. But the Hermit was too glad to take it to heart anyway. In no time, she was in conversation with Ketara once again.

What a wonderful moment it should be—if only they hadn't a job to do. Turning her gaze to the mansion, Ralinn sighed.

* * *

Somewhere in the deep of night, the shouts of command were ringing under the flickering firelight. The orders had been clear. In fact, they had been _so_ clear that some actually questioned it.

"_Destroy Kerning City."_

It was clear orders that Arqalios loved the most. The attack had already been organised—and what a glorious one it would be. At last, the rebel of the west, this arrogant city named Kerning, would feel the true wrath of the king!

He glanced about his comrades, who organised the helpers in the darkness. Bandits of every skill level had been too easily won over with bribes—so confused were they about their own principles. Now, they would eradicate their own hometown, for forty million mesos each.

In the deep night air, he could already hear the rustle of notes blowing on the wind, of coins being emptied onto the edges of the border wall. The grey walls were silent and oblivious; within, the city heard nothing, for they were too busy sleeping on too many a drink.

The guard captain would remember this moment forever.

It was New Year's Eve, minutes to New Year. In years to come, this would be the day when the king's ranks would celebrate the fall of the rebel stronghold, the day the rebels would sing dirges for the blood of a thousand martyrs.

And it would begin in five minutes, lessening every second. All around the city, the traitorous bandits were ready.

* * *

Ralinn called out to the lively lot. "Let's save up the fun for later," she suggested. "And meet them now."

Soon, they were all scaling the short hill, inevitably noisy from the excitement of the meeting. The guild leader knocked on the door, the rest gathering around the doorstep.

A soft creak. Everyone instantly fell silent, gazes trained hard on the edge of the door as the crack widened—

There they stood. A female youth of about fourteen, her hair brown and eyes shining with apprehension. A tall blonde woman with deep curiosity written through her gaze.

The two in the garden. The faces instantly brought her job back to mind.

"Um…good evening," the younger girl stammered. "We weren't expecting—"

Gazes met. Brown, black, sapphire, ice, ochre. Gasps of recognition—

"…Zethis?"

"Akera—"

"It's the Cleric girl!"

"_Lanoré? Here?"_

"Clynine—you know them?"

"Your name is Clynine?"

"Is that really _Lanoré_—"

Ralinn stared, agape, at the pair beyond the doorstep. The silence was pregnant, punctuated with the intermittent brushes of wind and the rustle of leaves in the autumn canopy. And they stared back, Clynine's eyes filling up with shock.

No one uttered a word—but thoughts were spinning, all around.

Lanoré finally cleared her throat. "So, a mob of foreigners appears at my assistant's doorstep. How fascinating…" she murmured, stepping out onto the first front step and turning to Akera. "Well, at least I know _one _person here…"

Everyone glanced at her questioningly.

"Well, yes," she replied, folding her arms. "I met them two years ago. Anything wrong?"

Raydan answered, "You mean you've met the Cleric before? We did the Orbis PQ with her!"

The chatter buzzed to life instantly, everyone's voices mingling in a crescendo of bewilderment and awe—

"Alright—alright!" Ralinn quickly called everyone to order. "They're our last two members so once we induct them into the guild we'll be complete!" The words tumbled out, Ralinn too excited to catch her breath. She turned to Clynine and Lanoré. "Do you wish to join our cause, to put an end to all our suffering under the hands of King Caleix?"

Tears suddenly filled Clynine's eyes. "Yes—I've wanted to, all my life…" Her whisper was lost in another smile as she turned around. "Mistress Lanoré—can we?"

"You know I'd agree to that cause any time," the Silver Fang of El Nath replied, convicted and certain. "Invite us then, miss."

The Ranger took no more instruction. The two chains were in her hand again, chains that she had offered up so many times before, all over the world—to Raydan, Zethis, Ketara, Telida, Turino, Shirion, Akera.

All those years she had travelled the world. All those years—they had finally come to this.

Clynine took her chain first. Her eyes were bright as the stars; her dress and her hair waved in the wind like veils of lace. Lanoré followed. She touched her assistant's shoulder, her smile like a beacon.

The chains of gold were like shimmering sunlight, in the light of the blissful fire.

* * *

Deep in the shining tunnels of the Clocktower, Arelyn blinked her sleepless eyes, gazing at the clock that told all time. She could hear the moment shaking, an echo whispering through the walls of her home. Another happening was on its brink—yet another, yet another.

But still she watched the clock, and she waited.

* * *

In the deep temple behind the mirror that held the sky, Deina sighed. Veriun was restless; she was whinnying, flapping her wings, pawing the ground as if something were coming.

Deina sensed no disturbance in her vicinity. Perhaps Veriun was dreaming again.

_Then why do I feel it too?_

Something was on its approach, ready to reach her. She didn't know what—but she was restless as well.

* * *

Ancient Horned Tail could not rest. There was a song in their minds—a song they had never heard, since the great Dragon Himself had sung them to life, and left them guarding fate in the caves of ice.

And here it was again, a song swelling in the night, sweeping their shared heart into a violent, beautiful storm of joy. For something was coming, about to turn the way of destiny down a road no one had ever seen.

Joy was high, and hope was nigh. In the caves, Horned Tail followed the song, and sang themselves to sleep.

* * *

The walls of the ancient Sharenians were ringing. Hyrien awakened, for his dreams had bidden him do so.

He could feel a whispering behind his ear, in every wall of Nightfall's hideout—but there was nothing there, nothing around him in his room.

And there was this anticipation in his heart. Anticipation for what? He didn't understand—it was an anticipation that made him shiver, his heart pound, his fingers grow cold.

* * *

_Five. Four. _

The thunder was rumbling in the edges, and the border of Kerning City became a border of light.

The mesos they had used—every coin would be repaid twentyfold.

* * *

Even in the shadows, they sang. _It _shivered, drew away, cried.

* * *

_Three. Two. One._

Horizons tore apart, walls swallowed by thunder, meteors streaking into the sky, bending the dimension with an infinity of screams and the splendour of the sun.

Ah, the glory! The blazing heat was like a christening from heaven. A colossal roar swept the rocks away, and shattered the universe.

* * *

The Year of the Tiger was gone. The year of anger, of fire, of toil and pain and discord—it departed like a whispering wind behind them.

The stars filled the ocean; they danced and sang and spoke of the centuries to come. From the night sky, the hunter Orion gazed down from heaven with his prided belt, at the mansion on the hill, smiling to himself.

She slipped the chain round her neck, breathing the night air. Beside her, her mistress did the same.

And, as the Year of the Rabbit was born into its first moments, the guild was complete.

END OF PART I

* * *

*Squeals* FINISHED WITH PART ONE!!

Ahh—the real story is about to start :D Hope you enjoyed this. I enjoyed typing it.


	7. Year of the Rabbit: Crossroad Clocktower

Chapter 7! (pats self on back) At last, I have entered the "More Than 100k Words" archive! Welcome me, LC and RotA!

Warning: it's the slowest chapter yet. The only "action" you'll get is a man killing a defenceless woman. And one particular character gets most of the spotlight. Many side characters are elaborated on too. It's more of an emotional chapter, so those who don't enjoy that have my permission to skim. But take note of the key points. They're very important.

Apologies to Lyrei for using a different name for the Dark Lord. Your fics still pwn so much more than mine ever will.

Before that: those who can't remember the characters can refresh their memories at my homepage if they want (absol-master. webs. com, without the spaces). The page is called OTDOTS Profiles. Oh, and please do visit anyway! Especially if you honestly like my writing.

Here goes anyway. It's gonna be long. And bumpy. Hope you survive.

* * *

PART II

Chapter 7: Year of the Rabbit/ Crossroad Clocktower

_dark lord: crossroad_

The sigh that left his lips—it was a question, a statement.

_Dark Lord?_

_My name wasn't always "Dark Lord"._

This insignificant thought was accompanied by a little unnecessary pain. At last, the man emerged from his basement, glancing through the broken bar windows.

_I once had a real life, a real name._

The bar was empty. Beyond, the world was the same—he could see smoke through darkly-tinted windows, streaming into the sky over the dead city. There was not a soul on the pavements, no one peering out the windows. All departed, too soon.

This was Kerning City. Kerning City, now lying in the ruins of its lost power, the city that had stood fast in the face of tyranny. Too long, perhaps. As the Dark Lord had predicted, the weak link of the city had been its own people.

_I always considered this within your capability, my students. _There was some guiltless pride in his eyes, as he returned to his room.

_Dark Lord of Kerning City. This isn't my real life. I wasn't always the master, the absolute heartbeat of the underworld._

His footsteps froze on the cold cement. The key clicked in his drawer.

_At one point, I was nobody._

The Dark Lord picked his Ilbis up from within the drawer, pocketing them. At once, he knew that he had to leave before anything came to stop him. He didn't pause once as he slipped swiftly into the world above, and began his flight through the soot-shadowed roads.

_Don't take anyone. Travel light. Travel safe. No one will find me._

The job master knew Kerning's streets and shortcuts better than any other in the world, from his thieving days. Between walls he slipped, crossing rooftops and hidden alleys, until at last he came to stand at the crossroads on the border. Around him, the walls were fallen and charred. The buildings were crumbled, the houses collapsed.

Where to now?

One thought slipped through his mind.

_Henesys._

If he went…then he might see _her _again.

The job master almost fainted with the ache in his heart. _So many years, Athena! Do you still remember? _

But reason quickly caught up with the fantasy, and the Dark Lord sighed. _No, not there, _he realised, stomach sinking._ That's where Caleix lives._

Cursing himself furiously for allowing emotions to sway his reasoning, the Dark Lord shook his head and turned away from the south road, abandoning all images of bright roofs, of sand roads—of _her._

_No, not there. I won't be safe there._

Slowly, he turned to the north, to Perion. That was the best way, now—the road to an old friend's house. He glanced back once more at the world behind, smiling slightly.

_So long, Kerning City_.

But before he could take his first step, he froze and looked away again. The job master's eyes darted across the rooftops, down—down upon the pavements, to the drain cover at the doorstep—he knew what lay beneath it.

_My old home._

Suddenly, the Dark Lord began to remember. He remembered the way they had fled together under the night sky, laughing, their latest catch in their pockets. He remembered the streetlights and sirens, the scrapes of metal and the deathly duels they shared—

Once again, the Dark Lord's heart had begun to sway him. He found his gaze lingering longer, his footsteps slowly turning.

_I wasn't…always the Dark Lord of Kerning City. _The job master blinked sadly. _I wasn't always a master. I wasn't always an__ honoured__ man._

_But…I had a real life. A real name. They called me "brother"._

_Once upon a time, I was only the craziest teenager in the world—and they were the ones who saved me._

_My name is Jet, and I am nothing but a lawless thief._

And they were his family. They deserved to live, so much more than he did.

And so Jet turned away from the north road—now completely forgotten, for the sake of his new mission._ Your brother is coming to get you out of there, _he thought, slipping down the gutter pipes and parapets without a sound. _You'll live a few years longer. You've never failed me before._

He knew the way perfectly, though no one had taught him. Never turning back, the Dark Lord followed his old heart—the heart of a nineteen-year-old, at the crossroads of his life. And that heart took him home.

* * *

_the library_

_There is a tome you must uncover—of a relic of the past, a great safeguard of magic. It will be your best chance against your enemy. There is but a year to go—a year more, and the world will fall beyond the brink of darkness._

_

* * *

_

"Good morning!"

As Ralinn pushed the doors open, she was startled to find a small old man staring up at his visitor through thick round glasses. "Welcome to the Helios Library!" he greeted them. "I am Wiz the librarian, at your service. You are my first visitors of the day!" Then his smile faded into a frown. "My first visitors in three years."

Ralinn cocked her head in surprise. "But I heard that…the entrance to Helios Tower is somewhere here," she responded. "Why—"

To her distress, his bespectacled face fell even more. "So you, too, are here to reach Helios Tower," he murmured dejectedly. "I was hoping, so much, that you would peruse some of the manuscripts—"

"But that _is _why we're here! I just wondered…why there should be no visitors…"

His strength returned, but he didn't smile. "Well, curse that king!" Wiz exclaimed with amazing passion, scowling. "Why can't he mind his own business in Victoria Island? He literally _cut us off _from the rest of the world by discontinuing the ferry service!"

She would have said something in sympathy, but the impatient exclamations from Orion's Belt made Ralinn shift back into focus. "I'm so sorry—may we come in?"

"Certainly, certainly!" the librarian replied enthusiastically, gesturing for the rest to enter. Ralinn thanked Wiz and proceeded to observe the catalogue names on the shelves, walking quickly across the floorboards the instant her eyes arrived at the word "History".

"Hey, guys!" she called out. "Guys! Get over here!"

"You haven't eventold us what book you want in the first place," Akera responded moodily, flinging her silver-white hair back in the warm stuffiness. Some of the others had already set off for other shelves, the rest standing at the doorway. Ralinn sighed.

"We're looking for a information on a magical object from the ancient past," she explained. "It's supposed to be a safeguard of some kind—but the instructions weren't clear. So half of us will search History, and the other half, Theology. Quick, split up."

They nodded one by one, automatically shifting into two groups and going to the assigned shelves with absolutely no fuss. Which was completely unlike them.

Ralinn glanced around, blinking. _They're actually listening to me, _the leader thought in mild surprise. _Look on the bright side, Ralinn. They're being nice to you today!_

* * *

_zethis: the lost warrior_

Raydan snatched a book from the shelf, glancing at his best friend. What more should he have expected? The White Knight was looking at Clynine _again_.

"Hey! Zethis!" Raydan finally yelled. Zethis leapt into the air. He turned away from the Cleric to look at his best friend.

"Yeah?" he responded, acting as if he hadn't been doing anything particularly silly. But the involuntary embarrassment on his face probably suggested otherwise. Raydan tossed the book over, laughing, and Zethis only barely managed to catch it.

_100 Famous People of the Century_

This, as Raydan had long known, was the White Knight's favourite kind of book. Eagerly, Zethis flipped it open and scanned the foreword. "Thanks, Dan!" he exclaimed, ignoring the Sniper's returning laugh.

"You know, I wish you'd stop being so _obvious_," Raydan said. But before Zethis could ask what that meant, Ralinn's brother had snuck over to where his sister stood.

Shaking his head, Zethis began to leaf through the pages, observing the various photographs and paintings, marvelling at their vividness and detail. This would entertain him for at least an hour. Settling down by the shelves, he continued his long read.

In the midst of his slow trawl through the information, he came a familiar name. Thaemis Omarden. Quickly he paused on the page, curling the corner in thought.

_Thaemis—Thaemis. _Zethis blinked as he tried to remember. Hadn't Dances with Balrog once said something about her vanishing? This _had _to be the person of whom he had spoken. But it just didn't satisfy him. _Strange…it's like I've heard her name somewhere else before…even further back…_

The White Knight's eyes moved to the photograph beside the printed name. It was faded, but he could make out enough—a woman stood on a podium, a sword in one hand and a massive medal in the other. He recognised it instantly—it was a medal from the now-defunct Perion Annual Combat Meet.

_Yes, that face… I've seen it before!_

Zethis remembered, suddenly. _Thaemis Omarden_—it had been the name inscribed beneath the metal portrait at home. The face of the greatest Combat Meet winner _ever._

_Thaemis Omarden, the vanished champion…_

Zethis smiled, calling to memory the pride on his foster father's face as he had shown him those six metal plates on the shelf—memorabilia from the famed old Combat Meet, a thing of the past.

"I got these off an auction—nine years back, when Thaemiswas still champion," he had said. "Sold my entire cart to get the cash, you know?"

The knight had only nodded, appreciating the portraits' detail. Especially the one of Thaemis Omarden. Even now, he could recall her wavy hair, its blue tint almost visible beyond the dull iron; the breezy smile, cut in shimmering metal skin.

What a tragic way to end your reign as champion, Zethis often thought. Out of jealousy, Thaemis' rivals had decided to confront her, twenty against one. Severely overpowered, they had subdued her, and extorted her of almost everything she owned.

She had been left with nothing, bruised and battered. And then, she had disappeared.

Blinking the reminiscence away, Zethis glanced down at the heavily worded page on the book, intermittently picking out fragments and phrases in the passage.

_Five medals at the Perion Annual Combat Meet. Opponents…jealous, and suspicious of her strength. Gang assault. Vanished. Combat Meet closed down, at the start of the king's new regime._

If the lost warrior would be found, so much would change. Perhaps she would have joined Orion's Belt, and given them all an example to follow. She would probably have led the people into revolt by now.

_Please come back, Thaemis. We have so much to learn from one like you._

_

* * *

_

_match_

"Akera!" Raydan yelled over to the only other person not reading a book. "Akera, you'd better not back down! I challenge you to a game of _match cards_!" Already, the colourful deck was fanned out in his hands.

Close by, Telida looked up, mouth opening. Turino hit his face with the book he was reading.

"I'll let you deal," Raydan announced, as Akera turned to him. "Come on, how much harm would a small game do? I'll give you the handicap and play it turn-by-turn. Or are you too much of a _coward_?"

That statement, clichéd as it was, did the job. After a tiny internal battle, Akera's prideful side won, and she walked straight towards her new adversary with contempt. "Well, alright, if you _insist," _she growled, sitting down at the table, opposite the Sniper.

"You must know, before we start, that Ralinn has _never _beaten me before," he commented smugly, dealing the cards out face-up. Close by, Ralinn groaned, head still buried in a thick volume on ancient history.

"But that's because I didn't _want _to play—"

"No excuses, Linn! I beat you every time!" Brushing off her reply with a flick of his hand, the seventeen-year-old Sniper turned back to the white-haired Mage. "Right—fifteen seconds start now."

The little monster pictures stood in ranks and files between the two players. Akera frowned with distaste; she glanced up and down the rows and columns of monsters—as did Raydan, face screwed up in concentration.

As if running on clockwork, the cards suddenly faded into identical rectangles of white. Raydan punched the table. Akera said nothing, rolling her eyes. The Sniper offered _politely _for her to start, so she did.

The first pair of cards came up without a moment of deliberation—two Torties.

"Well?" Akera prompted Raydan impatiently. "Turn-by-turn, right?" Sticking out his bottom lip, the Sniper reached out to turn his first two cards over.

_Octopus, Horned Mushroom._ He groaned, before the two cards faded to white again. "Your turn," he murmured. Akera fingered at two apparently arbitrary cards, flipping them gracefully over.

_Cargo, Cargo._

Raydan gave a moan. "How—how, _how_?" He rubbed his forehead, flustered. All the Mage did was fold her arms with annoyance.

"Next move?" she whispered, tapping the tabletop, suddenly absorbed by the game. The once-smug youth now reached for two cards, considerably more panicky than at the start. _Blue Snail—Pig. _Again, Raydan frowned, racking his memory for the images.

Around them, some were beginning to take interest—Telida was leaning close to watch, Clynine and Lanoré inching away from the shelves. "You now," the Sniper said, turning up his nose. "Bet it's just beginner's lu—oh."

_Pig, Pig. _The sight of the pair of pink creatures made Raydan clutch at his dark blonde hair.

"Your turn." He clenched his teeth at her calm invitation.

Each move after that was just as predictable. Akera effortlessly produced matches at every turn, revealing pairs Raydan didn't _know _existed. She gave him no chance to remember any before she turned them up herself.

The Sniper glanced up at Akera. This was _crazy_. Insane.

Eventually, only the final pair waited on the tabletop. And the Sniper growled, irritated, at the score—fourteen-nil. The two Evil Eyes finally showed themselves under his hands—his only successful match in the entire game. Almost everyone had gathered around the table by now. To watch Akera thrash Raydan.

"_You cheat!" _he shouted, standing. "That was _not _a fair game! You wrote them down somewhere, didn't you?"

"Where?" Akera murmured, raising her empty hands. "I found it all quite obvious. Didn't you?"

Scowling, Raydan shook his head. "I'll put that off to luck. But oh, _trust me_, I'll get you next round! Let's raise the stakes. Every time you lose, you'll be my servant for a day. Same for me. Alright?"

Slightly amused, the Mage gestured for him to start.

_Oh dear, _the looks on the onlookers' faces said everything. One should _never_ challenge Akera to a memory game, and offer such high stakes.

* * *

_telida: father's stone_

Telida finally managed to extract her gaze from the senseless card game. She'd expect someone like _Akera _not to attend to the childish whims of Raydan.

The cries of _"great Goddess!"_ and _"fine, your turn"_ weren't being very constructive towards her reading experience. She tried to keep her eyes on the text with the little reading skill she had—but was failing miserably.

"Hah—I _swear _that that was a pig! You did some of your magic on it, didn't you? Didn't you? _Huh?_"

At last, the dark-haired girl gave in to the incessant exclamations issuing from Raydan's mouth.

"_Shut up, Raydan! _Or I'll tear your mouth out myself!" The abrupt silence that followed was filled with the turning of book pages. They carried on with their game almost soundlessly.

Telida immediately returned to her book on ancient monsters, trying to distract herself. The pages fluttered by, the Hermit uninterested by the illustrations. Until—

Zakum?

She froze, turned back a few pages.

And there it was—the monster's image was painted on the left page, the great statue and its stone hands.

So…this is how it looks like. Zakum—that's the name of the monster Father always spoke of. That's—that's where he got his stone—

Her mind spun, as she began to recall that day. Her father. Her entire past.

It's because of people like you—people who think they own everything in the world—you're what make this such a horrible place.

She pulled herself up against the shelves, holding her legs close, struggling to push the pain away. There were tears in her eyes as she thought:

My—own—father.

The Hermit ground her teeth with barely-contained ire. Deep inside, her heart was screaming again—for a day branded eternally into her heart, still burning, though it should have faded years ago.

You taught me that, Father. You taught me to hate, by doing what you did.

The evening was cool and…mossy. She leaned on the damp tree bark, gazing out into nothingness. Mother and Father hadn't come home from their hunt yet. It was evening—time for dinner. Why were they taking so long today?

Telida glanced at where her twin brother stoked the fire. "Do you think they're fine?" she murmured.

Turino shrugged in response. "They're always fine," he said. "Why shouldn't they be today? Dad's a good Crusader. He'd be able to kill anything they meet."

_Still unconvinced, she stood, lifting her set of throwing stars and pulling her claw on. "I'm going to check__," she said. "I know where they'll be."_

_And so through the dark trees she sprinted, the forest pathways she had already learnt by heart. She could see clearly, even in the depths of this eternal night—the familiar sounds of the hunting ground growing raucous, through the shadows. Almost there. _

_The scent of blood was growing fresher, whetting her appetite terribly—but she pushed that aside for the task at hand, ignored the bothersome complaints of her stomach. The sounds were familiar, she noted as she entered the hunting ground. This was the most bountiful in the Dungeon, and her parents would certainly be hunting here—_

_Beneath the arch of branches, she froze, throwing stars scattering on the leaves._

"_No—"_

_They were here. Yes, they were here._

_Father had his massive sword raised, hilt stained with patches of blood. That snarl on his face—an image of anger she had never imagined before. No, not on her own loving _father's _countenance, not in those eyes…_

_And there _she _lay, before him, broken and bruised—body pressed against the roots, injuries marking her face all over like obscene tattoos. Blood streamed from her forehead, her nostrils, her lips—tinting them vivid red—_

_They turned at the sound of her dropping stars. All three were frozen for moments, soundless except for the cricket songs…_

_Her voice was alien—hoarse and raspy and terrified. "Lida," she whispered, eyes wide and__ humourless__. "Don't worry—I deserve this—"_

"_Telida! Get _out_!" Father's words were awash with guilt and fury._

_The voices finally unfroze her brain. Everything ran through her mind in that instant—the cruelty that now lay before her eyes, the image painted before her…_

_She screamed—head spinning, world spinning. "Father," she gasped. "What are you doing?" She swallowed her terrified tears, running to stand beside her mother. "M—Mother—you can't let him—"_

"_No, I can," she replied calmly, though she winced in pain. Father's eyes were wide and bloodshot, the frozen depths not stealing from Telida's rage. "I should never have raised my voice at him. I am indebted to him for—everything—"_

"_SHUT UP!" Father roared at his daughter. She backed away slightly._

_The sword swung down, blade first—a cry of restrained pain shaking the leaves. And Telida screamed, screamed, clawing at the earth with torn nails—but it could only go on and on, before her eyes_…

"_I still love you," the murmur slipped through bloodied lips, a fading gasp that held absolutely nothing, as her skull caved in under the blow. "All—of—"_

_Telida screamed again. Tears were running down her own skin like liquid snakes. Her mother's head fell to her chest, her body collapsed on her side, eyes wide, glazed like dull gems covered in oil…_

_Father withdrew the sword. The sweat gleamed on his skin. He bit his lip, and strode away—guiltless. Absolutely _nothing.

How can he? How can he just walk away—after—after—?

"_Father—YOU'RE A MONSTER!"_

_She clenched her fist with fury, fury that threatened to engulf her, destroy everything. _You can't have—can't have just—

_And suddenly, he was charging at _her_, sword unsheathed._

_Another scream tore the forest, leaping across the rocks. The animals scattered. Her blood turned into a frozen river and she swung away, the blade missing her face by a mere inch, hair waving in the blade's wind—her own dark eyes reflected in the reddened metal for instants—_

_With a roar, he lunged for her. His sudden grip almost crushed her windpipe. The breath wheezed in her throat like the cries of a feeble, half-dead animal. "Telida! She was nothing but a _woman_," he spat in her face. "Why do you think I married her? Love is a lie. You two were just an accident. She was only meant to perform her function as my woman, nothing more—"_

"_NO, _NO—_you swore! You swore an oath to the Clock Spirit, to protect her till death—"_

_His grip tightened. He laughed uproariously, suddenly. "Oath? What oath? Superstitions don't scare me, Telida. You ought to have realised a long time ago." All courage drained away, leaving terror to reign once more. _

_And she could only think this, as she stood, breaths shortening: Merciless. That was all he was—nothing more than a sickening _monster.

"_You will not utter a word about this to Turino," he snarled at the same moment. "You will tell him that a monster killed her. And if Turino even _questions _what I say, you can be sure that will be the last breath you take." His tight, hard fingers reinforced that threat. She whimpered, for she couldn't do anything else. Just like a pathetic little animal now._

The Clock Spirit will get you, _Telida thought with narrowed eyes, as his hand loosened its hold. _The Clock Spirit will punish you—and you'll regret what you've done.

"_Go home," he muttered, returning to the corpse. "Remember what I told you to do."_

In the present, Telida clenched her fist at that heartless expression in his eyes—even though it was only a memory.

Only a memory, a memory, _a memory!_

Tears were already slipping down her cheeks, and she pushed the book away before the drops touched it. She sniffed, wiped them away with determination. _Not the right time to be crying. _Not _the right time._

She had learnt to take death in her stride, after that. No death was harder to watch than the death of one's own mother—after she had seen that, nothing more could disgust her.

And if that day had taught her anything, it had been this: men were despicable. Abominable creatures that thought _nothing _of the rest. She clenched her fists harder, clenched them until her bones hurt, her heart hurt—

Breathing deep, the Hermit tried to still her thoughts with force. At least, retribution had come. They had woken the next morning to find Father lying dead among the trees, injured in exactly the same way as Mother.

Exactly the same way—bleeding lips, caved skull, and all.

_Exactly the same. _This was the Clock Spirit's answer for his blasphemy.

Telida smiled.

Again, she touched the stone in her pocket. _Is it wrong, then, that I still want to recall? _

This stone. It probably held different meaning to Turino. It was a symbol, of the parents who had _loved _and _cherished _him. She had never told him the truth of that day, and he would never know.

But for her, this stone was a reminder. A reminder that she could never let such a thing happen, again. A reminder, that a little weakness was all it would take to undo her life.

She glanced down at the page, at the ten-armed monster that glared back with empty stone eyes. She blinked, remembering how Father would brag about his single-handed conquering of the greatest monster of El Nath. How he had spoken, of daring the flames, of crushing the creature's stones beneath his foot—of taking his trophy from the corner of its eye!

Where there had once been respect for that story, there was now only disgust. _Tyrant. Crazy, blood-lusting tyrant. Your lack of faith was your own downfall—I won't make the same idiotic mistake._

After her father's death, she had sworn upon the Clock Spirit. To hate men all her life. To eternally shun them, never to deem any worthy of her affection.

_Especially you, Turino._

The Hermit grasped the stone tightly, so tight she almost pierced herself on its single sharp point. No, she would never forget this oath. It was the essence of her life, an oath made and sealed it with blood.

Never, never, never. Never accept her brother, never fall in love. She would eternally lay curses upon her father's memory.

The stone cut her skin. Warm blood ran, pure and dark and sweet.

_

* * *

_

_clynine: the balance_

_And the Spirit of the Dark, It is fed solely by the vices of humanity. Our darkness It devours; our hate It adores. Anger is Its song, greed Its food and fuel. Every thought of malice, of ill intent, of unreasonable vengeance—these are what has sustained It for millennia, and what will for millennia more._

_Therefore, caution! Caution is the cry I issue now to you. Never let yourself fall prey to the deity of darkness, the cloak of the night. Never stray from the Goddess' path. _

_For once in the hands of the Spirit, you will never free your soul again. You will become Its power if you fall for Its empty seductions, Its worthless temptations. It will draw on you to nourish Itself, and like malignance, It will expand—and eventually, it will overwhelmed the light and reign supreme. _

_Not all believe it—they call it a conjecture, a _lie_. Many still question it, out of fear and denial. But it is far too plain. It happened once—and by all means it may happen again. Once the Spirit has taken full control, we can hope and plead no longer. Our world will be destroyed, and us with it._

_

* * *

_

_akera: a secret sorrow_

Raydan was muttering in complaint, after his sixteenth successive loss. He gathered up the cards, shuffling them.

Why was _she _still playing?

They would never understand. Akera smiled to herself, humourlessly, as she watched a frustrated Raydan deal out the cards _again, _laying down the path towards his seventeenth day of serfdom.

Again she shook her head. _You shouldn't have, Raydan, _she thought to herself. _You should have known that I'm a seasoned professional. My mother—there was no game she loved more than this. Match cards._

Blinking before the rest of the memory could catch up with her, the Fire Poison Mage brushed out her long pale silver-tinted hair and got ready for her next game.

_Match cards. _Again she smiled. _Mum has never beaten me at match cards before._

There she was, living in the past again! Narrowing her eyes furiously, Akera tried to keep the pain from her face. She couldn't keep doing this, forgetting to draw the distinction between present and past—it had made her do something horribly embarrassing, back then in the forest, with Turino.

"Let's start," Raydan muttered, folding his arms. She looked up, no longer bothered by his tone, after having heard it for half an hour straight. She raised one eyebrow, glancing down at the simple little monster pictures—each one imprinting itself permanently in her amazingly receptive brain.

So receptive, in fact, that she could still remember the exact position of every card in the last _four_ rounds.

That wasn't all, of course—few knew that she could work out the product of 114 and 205 in no less than two seconds. Or that she could remember her way out of an unfamiliar maze without any second guesses. That had happened when she had been six, and her parents had taken her to the amusement park—

_There I go, living in the past again! Why? Stop it!_

But it was too much of a temptation this time. The laughter seemed to awaken something in her, a deep monster or angel that hadn't been roused for a while now—something that made her want to hold, hold on to that memory beyond her fear.

_I did love you, Mum. I really did. I wish I hadn't been so proud._

That was the problem with this phenomenal memory of hers. She remembered every detail of every moment, far too clearly, even if it had already been a decade. And as the card game began, her vision was clouded out by the image of another—

"_Come on, 'Kera. It's fun." _

"'_Fun' is a waste of my time."_

"Akera, stop wasting my time!" Akera pulled herself momentarily out of the memory and looked up—Raydan was watching her face expectantly. "First move is yours," he said. "Or are you just going to give up?"

_Why will you never give it a rest, Raydan? You're too bullheaded for your own good. _

She sniffed and looked down at the board. Already, she knew what lay under every white card—the two Pigs side by side, the Cargoes at the two corners of the playing field. It was all so clear, everything—she would beat Raydan once again, without doubt.

_But should I let him lose again? Doesn't it bother him?_

Akera opened a pair—two Horned Mushrooms. Raydan didn't look very bothered by her repeated successes anymore. He grinned up at her, then opened his pair. Two Snails.

_Two snails—_

Punching the air, he gave a small shout of victory. Yet she didn't hear—the longer she stared into the twin images, the clearer those memories slowly became, writing themselves deep into her eyes, against her will…

The tower bell rang five o'clock, through an invisible ten-year-old window. And it took hold, this memory—the single memory that had torn her apart so many times.

_Men trudging down the gangplanks, backbreaking loads lading their arched backs. Whips cracking in the clouded afternoon, and harsh yells of unreasonable fury._

_The tower bell. It was too bright. The song of five o'clock made her look away._

_From behind her, there was a call. "Akera! Let's play match cards!"_

Hah, match cards.

_Somehow she couldn't tear her gaze from the scene outside. The slaves were exiting the ships in slow lines, their cacophonous songs of agony unheard and ignored. Above them, the sky was so open so free—what a lie._

"_I've set up the board," her mother urged the seven-year-old at the window. "Come on!"_

_Groaning, she rested her forehead on the windowsill. Still the yells from outside rang in her ears. "Playing match cards isn't going to help Victoria Island's situation," she muttered. Her mother—Jazora Asfel, a woman more childish than her own daughter—stared on in confused surprise._

How terrifying it must have been, to hear a seven-year-old speak of concepts that only people twice her age would understand! Remembering made Akera smile—but the amusement didn't last long. Her eyes slowly darkened, as the memory drove her on.

_Akera went to her mother anyway, sitting opposite her at the table. "I still don't see why I'm doing this," she murmured to herself, folding her arms as they observed the cards. _

_In the first five seconds, her mind had taken it all in. Her mother was still staring at the pictures—_

Raydan was still staring at the cards, eyes full of fear. Reaching out, he turned one of them over—an Evil Eye.

Akera knew exactly where the other one was, but the Sniper was having some difficulty recalling. He bit his lip, touching a second card tentatively—

_No, not that one, Raydan. The one above it._

He shook his head. Then his hand moved slowly away, came to a stop over the correct card—and he flipped it over. The other Evil Eye showed its face, and instantly, he broke into a grin. "Akera!" he exclaimed. "There, it's your turn!"

She closed her eyes, trying, trying to forget. For moments, she did, and she brought the pair of Lupins to light. But all too suddenly, their faces struck another image deep into her mind—

_She had never felt so edgy in her life. All afternoon, she had watched as the slaves pleaded, cried out, collapsed, bled—only to meet, time and time again, the merciless flogging of the guards._

_How could such obvious injustice thrive in her own hometown? The king. The inhuman, crazy king! Why was _he _still in power? Why had nothing been done about—all _this?

"_Alright, you start." Akera's mother was too busy concentrating on the game to notice the anger that had come to the girl's eyes. Akera glanced down at the board of identical white cards, turning her first pair over. _

_Correct, as always. It was her turn again. The best thing about this format was that it allowed her to win fast, without her opponent making a single move. She smiled as she uncovered pair after perfect pair—something her mother was already used to—_

_Suddenly the door burst open. At the doorway stood her father, clothes__ dishevelled__, eyes darting wildly around the room. "Jazora!" he gasped out, gesturing for her to go to the door, which she did instantly. The only thing Akera heard after that was her harsh whisper of "what is it?"._

_She didn't look again. She continued to watch the gathering clouds outside, hear the roars and shrieks of suffering—and slowly, her heart filled up with molten anger._

The tower bell chimed five-fifteen, a golden song that flooded the air.

She knew what followed. She didn't want it to come. All these years, she had regretted the moment she had lost everything.

She didn't want it to come, and yet it had to.

Already, the tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks, warm and dark. Raydan was urging her to continue with the game—but the _game _was the least of her worries now. She was blind to the books, the shelves—everything was suddenly fading behind her memory…

_The door flew open. "Akera," her father said, graveness filling his voice. "Akera, we're moving into hiding. It's not safe to stay here anymore. The king's new rule is that families of less than five are not allowed to own houses."_

"_Come on, Akera, don't be afraid, we'll be fine once we find a place to stay, hidden," her mother said softly. Softly._

Raydan was staring at her in alarm. Around her, everything had suddenly become silent. But she didn't care—didn't care about anything. This memory was her singular adversary. The tears were too warm.

_Stop doing this to me, please! _Her breaths were becoming gasps, gasps for life—

Fury. Fury like fire, blinding her to conscience and to sense. Numbing her fingers and turning her throat dry. _How can they still try to lie to me like this? _Her mind screamed. _How can they smile while saying this?! They think I don't understand what's happening. They think I'll believe their _lies. _But I _know _what's going on! I know we'll never be free—never, never, never—we'll just keep running, until we can't run anymore. We'll run straight into our own demise. There is only one way. And they think I don't know that—_

_STOP PATRONISING ME!_

Akera screamed. The fire filled her eyes, as she felt her forehead meet the table, the cards scattering before her. And still her tears wouldn't stop flowing, as they wet the cards and glistened on the table. Fire was blazing in her hands, burning her sleeves—she could feel the flame singing her skin, for she hadn't the strength to guard herself…

Everyone was staring at her. _This is why they think I'm crazy! _The brief thought was washed away too fast. She couldn't help it anymore. Her tears rushed on and on, and she felt as if she would never stop crying…

"_Akera, stop it!"_

She gasped back the next wave of tears and blinked them away, fire bursting and dying at that moment. Turino was kneeling beside her, anger branded deep in his obsidian eyes as he glared straight at her. "You can't go on doing this." His voice was forceful and reprimanding.

All of a sudden, everything had vanished. Her mind was blank, completely blank, and she glanced away from Turino, wiping her eyes. "I'm…sorry," Akera murmured, looking about at all the faces staring at her—Clynine, Lanoré, Telida, Ketara, Shirion—

_Shirion. _She felt her heart break. He still stood at the shelves, gazing at her with blank eyes—with hardly any care or concern. Only terror.

She closed her eyes and remembered her childhood, with a painful pang. _Shirion…Shirion, my only friend at the station. My only friend—even now. You used to comfort me all the time. _Somehow or another, that had changed.

_But…_she withdrew and looked down. _…I want his care. I want his care, so bad. _The realisation was brief, terrifying—for the first time, she wondered what had become of herself. _Shirion…I always thought…we would be…_

A miserable cloud seemed to have appeared overhead, as she realised how true those thoughts were.

_We were…partners. I always thought. A pair. I think I…ah…_

But like it or not, the only person who had come had been Turino. Akera glanced back at him, whispering her thanks. He said nothing—but for moments, she noticed an unfamiliar _gentleness _in his gaze.

…

Offering him a last thankful smile, the Mage turned back to Raydan as if nothing at all had happened. Somehow, everything had left, sudden as it had come—and she felt ready to carry on. Turino was right. She couldn't go on doing this. So she looked up at the Sniper and smiled, slightly.

"Your turn," Raydan said, gesturing towards the now-misaligned cards on the wooden tabletop. "I don't really care if I don't win. This is really fun." Those words warmed Akera's heart, somehow.

_What a silly game, match cards! _The white-haired girl thought with a small smile as she recalled the card positions, stored somewhere in her brain. _Why am I even wasting my time on this?_

But she nodded anyway, and she reached out for the next pair of cards—for the sole sake of that smile it brought to the childish Sniper's face.

_114 times 205 equals 23370. I think it's pretty obvious; don't you?_

* * *

_shirion: prologue_

Shirion blinked with relief, turning back to his book. Thank goodness she hadn't done anything rash.

"Hah!" Raydan's exclamation filled the library. "I beat Akera! Oh yeah, I won I won I won I won…"

Shock filled his eyes, and he turned to the Mage girl in wonderment. Yet there was only peace in her eyes, and a light in them told him that she had done it on purpose.

_Akera! _He thought in surprise. _What happened to the grumpy eight-year-old I once knew? _This was unfamiliar, and yet comforting. _I never once imagined that she would actually be nice to someone. Ah…_

The Crusader glanced down again at his book. Now it seemed absurd that he was reading this again—a tale he had not visited for years. He had first heard it from Akera, back when he had been nine and she, eight. It was the tale of how the world began.

Shirion allowed himself to lapse into reminiscence, for those few moments. It had been cold and peacefully dark, he still recalled, when he had heard the story for the first time.

That one night in winter, Akera had helped him escape from the camp. And together, they had fled unseen. In a secret corner of the camping grounds, amidst the flutter of snow, the two had settled down in the branches, and they had smiled together for their false freedom. On the wood she had lit a merry fire, and they had shared stories for the entire night.

_She had enough control to light fires then. Has she become an angrier person?_

Shirion brushed the nostalgia away, turning the page and skimmed the beginning of the tale, searching for key points. It was the usual kind—descriptive passages about an empty universe, a formless mass of energy, and the first appearance of the four deities.

_The symmetry was close to unachievable. Chaos was master in those early times, and to have the random scattering of energy achieve symmetry was something that would only happen, once in a billion centuries._

_But still it did, before the universe could implode—and that single moment of order was all it took, to begin the formation of the four deities._

A beautiful story, Shirion remembered. Akera had told the tale to him in almost exactly the same terms, complete with all the advanced vocabulary. He relived it, picturing the universe as it began, the universe with all its stars haphazardly strewn across the universe. And in the corner, he saw the four growing entities of Light, Darkness, Time, Life.

_The Goddess loved all that was pure. Purity was divine in light. She rose through the dark heavens, and the stars shimmered to life throughout the universe, sparkling with the first, ancient brightness._

_The first instinct of the Dragon was to create other consciousnesses, others with whom He could share and converse. He longed company, the voice of one that would bring colour to the universe. And so the minor deities, humans and animals were created…_

The more he read, the more colourful his imaginary world became. Shirion saw everything happen—the sudden seizure of power by the Spirit of the Dark, the banishment of the Dragon and the Goddess, the plan they were forming at the edge of space. It was a vivid story—the spectacular show in his mind almost made him believe it, had he not been able to hear the turning of pages all around him.

_Broken, almost defeated, they looked on at the far world from a corner of the universe. They had to regain it somehow, but the only way, they knew, was to defeat the Spirit. They had to form a weapon capable of destroying It, one that could only be formed by combining their strengths with sacrifice._

_And the only things that the Dragon could give up were His bones and teeth. So He shattered His jaw, and tore a rib from His heart. The Goddess took them in Her hands—and Her pure blood flowed through His gifts, melding the pieces with each other. _

_The spear was formed, the Spear of Heaven. And it wielded enough power to destroy the stars._

With each word, he felt his heartbeat grow rapid, his eyes widen. His breath was held as the surreal story gripped him tighter…

_In the last moments of Her supremacy, the Goddess turned to the darkness at the other end, took aim at the shadow in the distance—and threw it with all Her strength. The Spear tore the darkness—_

Something suddenly seemed to snap into place in Shirion's brain, there and then, and the entire image of the universe spiralled away from his imagination.

That was it!

_Shredded starlight danced in between the two moments. There it soared, the only object in the universe that could harm the four great deities, an object formed of the power of the deities Themselves. And it tore the Spirit apart, melting it into a mere mist, so it no longer held any power over the world. _

That was _it_!

Shirion groaned to himself for being so blind_—why _had it taken him so long? As he cursed his lack of focus, he flipped quickly through the pages, searching for more clues—but there were only pages and pages of description, continuous prose.

Nevertheless, the Crusader called out his guild leader amidst the silence, fingers shaking. "Ralinn—I think I've found it," he said urgently as Ralinn, then everyone else, turned. "I think the object is the Spear of Heaven."

Ralinn almost dropped her book. "Really? That's—"An excited smile filled her face. "—Actually quite possible! Spear of Heaven—why didn't I think of _that_? All this while, I have been suspecting more _recent _things!"

In such a situation, Shirion wouldn't have given a response. But her _smile—_her smile sent his heart into a small trance, and to his surprise, he began to laugh.

"Don't worry, Ralinn!" he exclaimed, walking to her. "I didn't expect it either! I just got lucky." The Crusader tilted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. Her beautiful, beautiful amber eyes.

Ralinn desperately brushed her hair back, laughing nervously. "Don't look at me like that!" she suddenly exclaimed, reddening. "Shirion!"

Blinking with shock, he quickly looked away, furiously bereaving himself. _How can I lose control like that…_

_Lose control over what?_

The possibility was far too—_incorrect_.

_She is the leader of my guild. She is too far above me. She has a task to__ fulfil__, under orders. I can't try to distract her. I can't let myself…! Stupid, stupid Shirion! _He looked down at his feet and frowned.

"Well, we've got the answer then!" Ralinn quickly called to the rest of the guild, brushing that moment of awkwardness off. "It's quite clear that we'll be using the Spear of Heaven to defeat King Caleix—but it means we'll have to reassemble it. And the main problem we face now is that _no one_ knows where the four parts are—"

"No, we do," Lanoré objected calmly. While everyone else turned to look at her, she smiled her usual unfazed smile—it almost made Shirion want to worship her. "Light, Darkness, Time, Life. It _must _contain power from all four aspects of the ancient universe, if it is able to harm all four deities."

"Oh, really?" That was Raydan. There was challenge in his eyes.

Lanoré went on without hesitation. "Light counterbalances Darkness; Time does the same for Life. The only thing that can harm each is the other. And as we all know, the weapon split into four after the Spirit of the Dark was destroyed—"

"Diminished," Akera disagreed.

"—Diminished. It is a big assumption to make, but I believe that each part carried one deity's counterbalance, and would thus have been attracted to the greatest source, in this world, of that power."

"Oh! Oh! Oh! I know! I know!" Ketara exclaimed, waving his hand enthusiastically in the air. "The light part would have fallen into the Goddess' tower—she made the place herself!"

"Yes, and the Dead Mines would likewise take the dark part, since it was the darkest region in the world at that point. The life section should have gone to the Dragon's son, Horned Tail—and the final time section is probably—"

"Clocktower!" By now, Ralinn was pacing excitedly about in front of the shelves, everyone else gathered in a tense crowd around her. "It's perfect! All we have to do is find all four parts and put them together! And there we have it—a weapon that can defeat the king and all his necromancers. That dream voice is a _genius!"_

"Oh, trust me, you don't know _genius,_" Raydan muttered, glancing at Akera. "Nicely done, Linn. Now all that's left is to _beat me at match cards!" _The Sniper produced his deck of cards again. But his irrelevant comment was ignored, for a conversational buzz had suddenly grown among the rest.

"We should depart as soon as possible," Akera said amidst the noise. At the same moment, the Mage glanced up at Shirion and sighed visibly, before looking away.

He stepped back in shock. _Was that…disappointment_? Somehow, the Crusader knew why she felt so, and he tried not to show his guilt.

"You're right," Ralinn replied to Akera. "The Clocktower is the closest—we could go there now."

"It'll take us at least three days," Akera sniffed. "If we're really going to save the world, we'd better hurry up."

"Alright, we'll leave in a few minutes!" she called to her guild. "Stock up on your supplies outside. I won't be sharing anything with anyone. Got that?" The murmurs of consent were definitely more cheerful than before.

While the rest departed, Wiz had a small chat with Ralinn regarding the path to Helios Tower.

Eventually, only the Ranger herself remained with Shirion. He found himself helplessly gazing on at her from behind, hoping she wouldn't turn around and see him.

Of course she did. But instead of telling him off, Ralinn smiled and looked down at her feet.

"You should go pack up too," she said softly, walking away towards her bag, on the armchair. Somehow, it seemed like she could help it—the Ranger turned back to smiled at him once more, and he returned it.

_She's cute…_

Shirion suddenly caught himself, a little too late. Groaning with utter embarrassment, he glanced about, hoping that no one could see his blush. _Ralinn—cute! What's wrong with me today?_

_Oh no, I know. I know what you're doing, Shirion. Don't. Really, _don't.

* * *

_akera: remember_

"Telida, how in the _world _did you get that?"

Telida glanced down at her palm, at where Akera was pointing. There was a wound there, vivid red with obscene patches of oozing yellow pus, the injury far too deep to have been accidental.

"Oh, nothing much," Telida replied flippantly. "It's none of your business anyway."

Akera almost smiled at her protectiveness. "I can guess," the Mage murmured, rolling her eyes. "Something you read brought back bad memories, and somehow it upset you to this extent. Isn't that right?" She glanced down at her own hands, raw and stinging from her self-inflicted burns.

"That isn't important," Telida replied fiercely. "You really shouldn't be prying into my personal matters. And anyway—_you_, of all people, should know annoying you're being right now. You wouldn't want someone to ask you about such things, would you?"

She blinked for a few moments, then folded her arms. "What happened back then was simply _wrong." _Her voice had become a snarl. "And—you know, Akera—you've become far too agreeable. It's weird—and I don't like it."

"Well, thank your _brother _for that!" the Mage answered snappily. "It's not my fault—_I _didn't ask for it to happen!" She paused for moments, breathing deeply. "He—he said a few things to me, and I…"

Telida sniffed in disgust. Akera almost told the Hermit about Turino's true opinions. But he probably wouldn't want that—so she didn't say anything. "Fine," she said. "I know what you mean, about your past and all. It's not nice recalling."

They walked on soundlessly to the potion shop, neither uttering a word or even attempting to. The silence was strangely awkward, the sounds of the nearby market filling the space between the two. She clasped her hands together—remembering, too late, that her hands were burnt. She froze from the pain that crawled outwards on her palms.

"You should try to remember that it's already over, whatever happened back then." Telida had suddenly stopped walking. "There's really nothing much you can do about it anymore. About your parents, I mean. Believing that you _can _only makes it harder."

Akera looked up in surprise. Was _Telida _really saying this—the barbaric girl who had lived all her life in the Dungeon? It was utterly shocking, to say the very least. _Telida? Telida, understand such matters? _Pretty unbelievable, to Akera—but her words were making sense. So much sense.

Then the Mage thought about what she had just said, and she felt a lump appear in her throat. _Mum. And Dad. Ah…_

Telida had said it with more depth and pain than there should have been. Her eyes were glazed with tears. She really understood, then, didn't she? Something must have happened in the Hermit's own life, that almost perfectly paralleled her own. Perhaps.

"The only way left is to repay the debt," Telida went on. "Remember that it's already gone. Remember—and you'll never have to recall. It's not easy, but it makes everything else easier."

When they began walking again, they were even quieter than before. "Thanks," Akera said softly. "Admittedly—I never actually thought of it that way."

_Remember, and you'll never have to recall. _Without thinking any more, the Mage had inked those words permanently into her brain. Telida smiled briefly, so briefly—it was enough to make Akera believe those words, more than anything else.

_Remember that it's already gone. Remember, and you'll never have to recall. _

* * *

_hyrien: esharo_

"Hyrien," Pelinor called softly. The Knight smiled, hand shifting to his sword's hilt. The blade slipped out of its sheath, and within moments of that, he had finished his job. With nothing more than a soft _crack_, the guard collapsed to the ground in a heap of armour, all packed and ready to be delivered to the Nightfall headquarters. They couldn't afford anything more abrasive. A dead man wouldn't be giving them any useful information.

Pelinor tossed him a coil of rope. After that, work was easy—tying up an unconscious man was like tying up a sack. He offered absolutely no resistance, as all unconscious men should.

Within minutes, they were halfway down the road to the headquarters, Pelinor lugging the guard's body through the earthy darkness, the unconscious man's boots scraping the soil.

The guild master grinned. "You see now?" he said through the crackle of leaves. "All that argument was worth it. It went without a hitch. Imagine if we had brought thirty men!"

"Yeah," Hyrien agreed. "Disaster." He glanced back at the man, whose legs dragged a clumsy trail through the moonlit leaves. Helmet removed, the guard's face was obviously youthful, and still peaceful from his sleep. Hyrien sighed and shook his head with strange pity.

Now, Hyrien stood before the captive guard in a windowless grey basement room of the hidden headquarters, nothing but a corkscrew in hand. In this case, a corkscrew was all he needed. Bracing himself for what might be coming, the Knight brought his orders back to mind.

"Use any means. Find out as much about the castle as you can. Then we can release him by morning—make sure that Rako brainwashes him good before that."

Hyrien had never done anything like this before. Yet again, this was the closest the guild had ever gotten to unravelling the castle's secrets. And Pelinor had decided to entrust him with the job. For that, he knew that he couldn'tscrew it up.

Again, the White Knight turned his gaze back to the captive in the chair. The white walls echoed the candlelight, and under them, the man's eyes flickered.

_Time to start. Please, let this go fine._

"Good morning," Hyrien said stonily. With a start, the guard awakened, eyes wild—but his cry was held in by the cloth over his mouth. "Oh sorry, did you expect to be in bed?"

Slowly, the guard's eyes shifted to the tool in Hyrien's hand—and after a long silence, a muffled cry escaped him. Unsmiling, the White Knight pulled the gag off, the man instantly beginning to pant and shout in horror.

"No—no! You don't have to torture me! I'll tell you _everything_—" Then he froze, terror deepening. "But you must kill me—"

Hyrien's expression quickly faded into bewilderment. "I'll _die _if you release me," the guard continued desperately. "He'll have me executed. Or killed by a necromancer."

"Then why are you on his side?" Hyrien questioned. "What's your name?"

"Esharo," he replied, bowing his head.

"And Esharo, why are you still on the king's side?"

"I swear I'll tell you everything. But you _must _kill me—"

"_You haven't answered my question!" _Hyrien felt a hot surge of anger in his throat. "You're the ones who divided me from my parents. You just—just _took _them, because you were told to!"

"I know," Esharo gasped in reply. "I know it hurts."

"Then why do you still listen to the king? Do you _like _seeing humans in pain?"

The room was suddenly very quiet. Hyrien breathed deeply to rein in his sudden rage, the makeshift torture device shaking in his hand. Esharo shuffled his feet on the floor, unable to raise his gaze.

"You're just like me, Esharo. We are but the same age. And you've already given up your life, to the king. Why?"

Silence. Shadows flickering. Esharo looked up at Hyrien, his eyes deep in the shadows.

"I—I don't know," he finally responded.

Hyrien punched his face. The guard turned sharply with the blow, gasping.

"I _thought _it was the right thing to do," Esharo defended himself desperately. "I was still selfish. I followed his orders, and in return, King Caleix made life good for me. It was everything I needed." He froze and blinked. "But—I came to realise the flaws. Almost every guard will, sooner or later. They'll come to a situation where they have to choose—"

Esharo's hollow sigh suddenly made Hyrien's throat ache. He fixed his eyes on the young guard, suddenly able to understand. Truly understand…

"For me, it was this day—six years ago. I mean, imagine it! There's this boy at the gates—no more than ten—asking to enter the city. But he doesn't have a pass, and thus his entrance is illegal. _There—_I suddenly find myself having to choose between what is right, and what I have been told to do."

He paused.

"I let him in. I disobeyed my king, and let him in."

Again the silence was complete. Hyrien gazed on at the almost-lifeless figure of Esharo, suddenly seeing more in that slumped body than he once had.

You disobeyed your master, even though you could have died for it.

And for the first time, too, he began to doubt his task.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I won't harm you," Hyrien said. "But if you don't, we might have to brainwash you."

The guard looked back at Hyrien, gaze unshaken, completely sincere. "I'll tell you. But you must kill me after that. It will be better to die at your hands, than to—"

"No! If you treasure life, then _lie_! Lie to your king, Esharo. Your freedom and conscience is worth more than anything _he _could ever give. You are human, just as I am. No one has a right to your life—only _yourself._"

Those words seemed to hit Esharo like a slap. He bowed his head, trapped by this unspoken dispute. "No—" he whispered. "He _has _a right—doesn't he?" He stared at the ground for moments. Finally, his voice came through. "Yes, you're…right." It was a snarl. "I wasn't born for _him._ It's so true," he said. "I don't see why I always believed that I was! You speak quite well, sir—"

"My name is Hyrien," the Knight replied on impulse. "I am compelled to believe that you should know my name."

Esharo nodded. "Now ask me what you must. About the castle. I will answer as far as I can."

In some way or other, the torture session turned into an interview session. Esharo was compliant—but Hyrien wasn't keen on trusting him.

And yet, the faithfulness never seemed to fade from the guard's eyes. He only fixed Hyrien with a steadfast gaze, as the secrets rolled off his tongue—outright, guiltless betrayal.

Mildly surprised, Hyrien scribbled all of Esharo's words into his notebook. Mentally, the Knight unravelled the geography of the castle, corridor by corridor. In his mind's eye, the walls came undone, the doors opening and levels painting themselves for him.

By the end of their long conversation, he had more than enough information to formulate an invasion plan—and how enlightening this knowledge was! But it had also brought Hyrien to realise that staging an invasion might take up to a year of preparation. The systems were too beautifully sculpted, too perfect and unbreakable.

At last, Hyrien had found the answer to why no one had succeeded in revolt, in all these sixteen years of oppression.

He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Nightfall _had _to be different. Nightfall would succeed, where no one among the millions had. They would crack this blasted logic puzzle; find the _one_ loophole that would unravel the entire tapestry.

Soon, Hyrien had all he needed. He stood, thanking Esharo. And just before he turned to leave, Pelinor's order echoed back.

"_We can release him by morning. Make sure that Rako brainwashes him good before that."_

The Mage who had modified his lightning powers to interfere with brain signals. Hyrien had seen the effects of his powers before—the pigs he had first tested on had spent the last days of their lives ramming their blood-covered bodies into the enclosure walls.

And here, now, he looked upon Esharo's armoured figure, still bound to the chair by rope, eyes questioning. And Hyrien knew, at once, that he never wanted to see the guard suffer that way.

_Make sure that Rako brainwashes him—_

"I suddenly find myself having to choose—between what is right, and what I have been told to do."

Fifteen minutes from that moment, Esharo was trudging towards the gates at Hyrien's command, the White Knight's face as grim as death itself, his grip steely on the captive man's wrists. Outside, Pelinor awaited them with a smile, muscular arms folded over his chest. Before they left, he stopped them for a chat.

"How are you, sir?" the guild master asked, mockery in his voice. "Enjoyed your stay?"

Esharo's eyes didn't move. He stared on soundlessly, as if the world had become invisible to him—as if his brain had died, and he was no longer able to process the words. His mouth opened and closed erratically.

"Totally cleaned up," the guild master grinned, kicking the man's shin. "So what did you squeeze out of him, before the brainwash?"

Hyrien produced his notes. "This."

The guild master chuckled and ruffled Hyrien's hair, far too pleased. "Well then, you should get going now. Well done, Hyrien."

"Thanks, Pelinor."

As they slipped through the metal gates into the deep morning, the air of the forest was cool on his skin, the leaves crackling. On they travelled through the dead leaves, further and further into the misty darkness and the invisible towering trees, till at last they were out of view of the old Sharenian building. Leaves rustled through the night, the winds making him shiver.

Hyrien slowed to a stop among the unforgiving shadows. "Good work," he whispered to the guard, beginning to undo the cold chains. "That was too convincing, Esharo. I almost believed it."

The guard nodded with a smile, pulling the last of the chains off—they rang resonantly as they fell to the sweet-scented leaves, but the sudden wave of cricket chirps was enough to obscure the noise.

"Well, you're not really going to turn away from your duties, are you?" Hyrien questioned.

"I can't." Esharo sounded tired. "He's runs these intense propaganda programmes to keep us loyal—and I admit that they work very well. If…if I'm not on your side the next time we meet, just remember today. Remember that at the core, I wish to be free." His eyes glimmered ever so slightly, his gaze distant in the treetops.

Hyrien nodded grimly. "But there is one thing you must swear," he murmured. "_Don't_ give Nightfall away. Whatever the king tells you—"

Suddenly Hyrien drew out a dagger, grasping Esharo's arm—and with abrupt fury he carved a cross deep into the pale skin. The guard winced, eyes shut for a few seconds, the wound darkening and swelling with blood.

Hyrien wiped and sheathed the blade, biting his lip from slight disgust at what he had just done. He was a man of honour, not of violence. "Don't give us away." The White Knight repeated, placing weight in his tone. "Let _this _be your reminder."

"Yes, I'll do as told," he replied through bared teeth, still clutching at it, trying to stem the ooze of blood. "Giving you away would be completely undermining my decision."

After moments of silence, they continued to walk, till they had returned to the place where Esharo had been abducted. Here the guard nodded a small thanks and returned to his post, lifting his spear from where it had fallen into the grass. Not much of a goodbye—but more than enough for both.

Hyrien didn't want to say anything more. Growing too close to the enemy, even a man with doubts about his own side, would create problems. So he simply gave the guard a smile and departed soundlessly.

Somehow, though, he knew that he had changed. Today, he had disobeyed Pelinor for the first time in his life. And to his surprise, it had been guiltless.

_I'm sorry, Pelinor. _He could almost hear his own words out loud, as he sighed softly into the cold morning air, and trudged back to the Nightfall headquarters.

What would happen, if Pelinor found out about his disobedience? The question suddenly caught hold.

If they found out about his act of betrayal, he would doubtlessly lose _everything _he had earned within Nightfall…

That single thought suddenly sent panic through his blood. He froze among the roots in the undergrowth, shaking.

Lose everything, for the sake of someone I don't even know? Lose all my friends, my companions, the people who have always honoured and loved me? Pelinor, Coelion, Aradel, Yunira, Hinlea, Window, Marcen…

The doubt was dizzying, sweeping him up again in terror. He glanced back. There was still time, time to turn around, time to kill the guard and hide him deep in the forest where he would never be found. There was time to close the matter, now—

_No._

In a split second, Hyrien refused that road. Esharo had made a similar choice—a choice jeopardising his position, in the world he had always known. It was only right that he did the same.

* * *

_dark lord: perion_

In the winds and mists of the distant world of Perion, a small group of twelve black-clothed men and women came to a stop atop the beautiful, abandoned mountain.

Abandoned. Cloaks and dresses fluttered in the spring mountain wind—all black. The Dark Lord glanced around and blinked, reserving his sadness to a small frown. _Abandoned, just like Kerning._

Sometime ago, the village had been attacked—even now the signs of violent battle were evident. Rocks were painted a messy scarlet, the tents lying on their sides, some lying tangled, hanging from the earthy ledges of the mountain.

What had happened? The tribe of Perion had never known defeat in battle. They were spirited warriors, their passion seeming to run through their blood. They were _born _and _raised _for battle.

At least they went down in a fight. We were sitting ducks. Helpless, hopeless people who were drinking to New Year, to the second of our death.

It wasn't a heartening thought. Trying to push the images of a dead past away, he knocked on Dances' door, and waited for a response. _Waited. _Who was to know if he still lived there? There seemed to be no life left in the last dregs of the great tribal settlement.

As he stepped away, the Dark Lord glanced about at his companions. The group of eleven friends who had come with him—how many years it had been, since he had been this close to them all. _Pan, Lawrence, Erin… _These were names that still fell smoothly off his tongue, though he had never uttered them once in the last decade. Tasting his regret again, he remembered how he had once called them to service.

"_Pan, survey the area."_

"_You're late, Lawrence."_

"_Erin! Could you get me my breakfast?"_

They had been equally joyful to see him—and it filled his heart with strange, silly gladness, to know that they hadn't forgotten.

Now, here they stood with the Dark Lord, all dressed in black, at the door of a building owned by a man they had never seen before, in a world alien to them.

He loved them, for having so much faith in him.

And all he had to hope for, now, was that _his _faith in Dances with Balrog would not be shortchanged.

A small click. Someone's face appeared at the door—and the Dark Lord felt his eyes swim. With gladness.

"Hey, Jet!"

He tensed up at the sound of his real name. "Don't call me that," he replied with a frown. "Dark Lord. I'm the Dark Lord."

The Warrior Job Master didn't look too fazed. "Alright, whatever, Mister _I-must-keep-my-secret-identity-secret_!" he replied with a grin. "What brings you here now, of all times? You can see we aren't in a very good state."

"I think you'd consider the state of your village _very good _if you compared it to the patehtic state of Kerning right now. My bandits really did a good job on it."

"Come on in!" Dances was still smiling. "The eight survivors of the battle live with me now, so don't be alarmed to see them. We don't leave the place, except to hunt."

It was a hearty response—but the Dark Lord saw, too well, the regret behind the joy in his old friend's gaze. Dances with Balrog had become the Job Master at about twenty-eight; he looked a lot older than the Dark Lord did himself. The wrinkles that appeared on his forehead, despite his smile, aged him yet more.

The man held the door open. The Dark Lord took one glance back, and called his friends in. "Don't worry," he murmured with a smile. "You can trust him."

Wordless, he entered, silently praying for their trust. He didn't bother to turn to look, though he could hear them murmuring in apprehension.

But when they came, the footsteps were just as eager as they always had been—when they had fled in the concealing cloaks of night from the dark heart and its tangled veins, when they had first started this journey over the craggy valleys.

They were still brimming with trust, trust undying even over the course of a wearying decade.

It was heartwarming—though the Dark Lord didn't like to admit it. And he knew at once that the glow of the warriors' flame was the warmth they had sought, all this while.

_

* * *

_

_timeless heart_

Far in the clouds a thousand miles away, Orion's Belt had just finished their ascension to the top of an impossibly tall tower on an impossibly slow lift. You could imagine how long _that _must have taken.

Five hours, to be exact. The lift was _that _slow—it ran by the century-old magic of the Clock Spirit. Seemed like that deity wasn't one to be concerned with something as insignificant as _lift maintenance. _Besides, the lift must have been a source of amusement for It, countless people who must have stared at their watches as the lift ascended.

Watch them watch watches. Haha.

And yet again, the stories said that the Clock Spirit was never amused. It never troubled Itself with the matters of the world, or the conflict between the Goddess, Dragon and Spirit of the Dark.

It was all just something in passing, after all. He knew where everything would end.

But every rule has an exception, it seems. One day, many said, the Clock Spirit would find someone with a soul unknown to Time—someone whose fate It couldn't see. The thought both frightened and intrigued the world.

Timeless Heart, they called him. One day, Timeless Heart would appear, to twist a thousand roads.

The Clock Spirit already knew who he was. Would It ever tell the world? No, guess not. That would always be Its own secret, and perhaps It would only whisper his name into the ear of a lone child in a fever dream.

* * *

arelyn: silk death

I'm changing, changing. I'm losing everything I've ever known to be true.

So many times she had already seen it—this blue shimmer around her hands. And every time, it made her heart grow colder, colder.

"Mummy…mummy…"

Arelyn looked away from her clock, at the doorway to the Origin. There was a creature at the door—a panda teddy. Through tearful eyes it gazed up at her, its clockwork clicking tirelessly away.

The tiny toy creature turned to reveal a huge rip in its side. Arelyn blinked and sighed, walking over to her drawer, where she kept her needle and thread.

This was their job—_Arelyn, Ayris, Kalia_. For millennia they had walked the corridors of the Clocktower, keeping it running, the inhabitants alive. Besides their roles as the guardians of time, common duties included winding up the clockwork creatures, sometimes fixing them. They were never without work to do.

So long already, of nothing but this. The nonexistent walls of the Clocktower had held them all these years, years she didn't want to count. And the animals had lived with them all their lives, the three children of the Clock Spirit—their only company, their only joy, in a world and a duty to which they had been assigned since the start of Time.

Yet she was lonely. She was lonelier than the sky she had never seen. She knew that somewhere between the two passages above, Ayris and Kalia shared a love she would never know.

So now, she only had her charges—these little creatures that came to the Writer of Time to be repaired and to live on.

"Mummy…help…"

The bear's stuffing was strewn over the floor. The pain flooded its eyes—

No matter how she searched, Arelyn couldn't feel its pain as she once had. Her heart was too cold to feel. It made her look down. It was like she was nearing expiry, the end of her boundless life. Her heart was fading.

_How long more, Master? _She had asked before—and the answer was still clear.

"_Until you do what you must. They seek you twice, a shattered world cradled in their hands."_

She would probably only know the meaning of those words, once the event came to pass. So often she had stared into the eternal clock, searching for the answer in its moving hands of every light and darkness—but all it gave her were unimportant flashes, of moments she didn't care to know.

The bear waited at her feet now, legs buckled, body half crumpled. Arelyn glanced at the needle and thread in one hand, the fabric in the other—

_I'm changing. I once cared, but I care no longer._

And the doubt slipped through her soul, like poison.

Why should this little creature be made to live again, to feel the pain and anger that came with life? Why shouldn't its life simply be wrenched away, and its feet kept moving by a force that wouldn't bring it suffering?

_The pain required to achieve painlessness would be more than the pain if not. But that pain is more organic, a more restless chaos than what I can offer…_

"Would you lose your consciousness, for the sake of losing your pain?"

"I love my world and my home, mummy. I don't want to give it up."

But Arelyn lost patience. The cloth was perfect silk, perfect and gold-trimmed—perfect to house a parasitic soul. The shadows, the shadows were screaming to her. They begged to be set free.

_My heart is fading. I once cared, so much. I cared for joy, for light, for laughter—_

_But that, too, faded. I've forgotten it all._

The bear cried out in horror—Arelyn held a ghost in her palms. A black cloth filled with magic, eyes lifeless and shining. It cried and cried—but she gripped its struggling body tight, so tight it could not flee. She held it, merciless and cold, as the needle went through its arms and into the ghost, slowly draining its life and love away.

_Now you will forget too._

Its cries were dying. The key still spun in its back—but its eyes were fading into heartless lights.

_Everything. Soon I will have forgotten everything. These days—they will someday drift into the doldrums of Forgotten Passage, and never return._

Then Arelyn stared down into her handiwork—and it felt as if something were piercing her throat. She could not believe what has sprung from her fingers, could not believe that this was the product of her own hands.

_I have forgotten everything else._

_But somehow. Somehow, I haven't forgotten guilt…_

The bear was dead. Still it walked when Arelyn released it onto the ground. The ghost fed it signals, and the bear could not help but obey and walk, carrying its parasite away.

Arelyn watched its retreating shape, closing her eyes.

_I'm sorry. My world is no longer as it once was. I'm changing, and I don't know why my Master is doing this. But I know it is permanent, and I know that someday, you will never see me again._

Again, a flash of blue—she turned back to the clock and tried not to glance at her shimmering hands.

_"Expect eight visitors later today,"_ it murmured mistily, tonelessly. Arelyn sighed softly and closed her eyes, leaning her head on its glass face.

She knew that a tide of fate was about to wash her world a new way. She knew it would not happen till the Clock Spirit's prophecy came true, however long that may be.

But all the same, it was a knowledge that slowly closed in on her and her fading heart. And she could only wait. Wait, helplessly, for destiny to claim her.

-

_ketara: ten minutes_

"I told you not to eat off the floor! You see? This is what happens when you don't observe proper hygiene."

That was what Ralinn exclaimed, exasperatedly, as Ketara ran off to the toilet and began vomiting for the fourth time that afternoon. The sink tap gushed violently, and the Dragon Knight stumbled out moments later, looking dazed. The rest momentarily looked up from what they were doing to stare at him.

He collapsed onto the sofa of their shared rented house in Ludibrium, eyes closing. "You're right…" he replied, sounding completely washed out. "Proper hygiene…"

"Clynine, can you do anything about it?"

Clynine shook her head in reply, from where she sat on the sofa, reading her mistress' scroll. "I…do wounds," she murmured. "If it doesn't involve broken skin…I won't be of any help."

Ralinn felt herself deflate inside. "Guess you'll have to stay here while we search then," the guild leader muttered to the warrior on the sofa. "Come on, let's all go now."

"Wait…" Ketara called back. "Could someone—stay and keep me company?" The guild leader couldn't say "no", seeing that desperate, tired smile on his face. Sighing again, she turned back to the rest.

"Does anyone here_ not _want to go along?"

It didn't take long for Turino to stand and walk over. Ketara managed to smile at him, but the Mage didn't return so much as a glance.

While Turino sat and Ketara tried to find himself a more comfortable position on the couch, Ralinn called the rest to the open, windy doorway. As she went to join the rest, Telida turned and shot the two of them a glare. Ketara felt his stomach sink at her expression—and considering that he was rather sick there, it didn't feel very nice.

"Take care," the Ranger called, looking one last time at the two on the sofa. Ketara waved weakly. Then Ralinn began to walk away, and the rest vanished through the door, Lanoré banging it shut.

The silence was cool and sweet for a few minutes. There they lay on the sofa, Ketara leaning his head on the cushions, Turino staring lazily at the door without a word.

Finally, the dark-haired mage spoke. "Telida's acting up again, isn't she," he commented. Ketara nodded sadly. "Don't care about her. Having friends like her isn't worth your time."

"But—but she's nice sometimes—"

"Yeah, _sometimes_. She's just so confused about herself. Worst mood swings in the world." The youth with raven hair leaned back as well, gaze now trained on the colourful ceiling. "She's been like that since ten."

Somehow, Ketara had the feeling that Turino had more to say. But he didn't feel like bothering the highly disagreeable Mage, so he didn't ask.

Another pause of a few minutes. Ketara didn't interrupt it—he felt too sick, anyway. In the silence there was absolutely nothing—perhaps the distant beat of the Clocktower, somewhere beyond the walls—but otherwise, nothing in the quiet morning.

At last, as the silence began to grow too unbearable, Turino looked away—and spoke again.

"She…wasn't always like that."

"Oh, really?" Ketara asked, sitting up, interested. After all, it didn't matter if she was currently being hostile towards him—Telida was the only person whom he felt he had the liberty to call his "best friend"—and he would like to hear more about her past.

Silently the mage nodded. Unfamiliar sadness was rising in his eyes—a sadness that Ketara didn't want to understand.

"But she turned into a monster, of course."

The harshness of that statement surprised the Dragon Knight, to say the least. It would be a long time till he understood _siblings_ in general—but still, it seemed strange that two people who had lived together all their lives could hate each other so much.

"You're—twins," Ketara voiced his musings. "Aren't twins like…the closest a pair of siblings can get?"

Something in Turino's dark gaze told the Dragon Knight that he had taken insult from that statement. The Fire Poison Mage looked away defensively. "Haha—two children, separated at birth by ten mere minutes of time," he murmured, half amused, half outraged. "We were _supposed_ to be close—and we were. Oh, mark my words, _we were_." He sniffed, arms folded, eyes burning. "But ten minutes, it turns out, is the greatest distance in the world."

"Then…what changed that?"

Ketara was ready for a furious, impatient reply—and ready to take it. He slumped nauseously back on the sofa, closing his eyes. But for some reason, Turino made no sound.

Perhaps that question had been too insensitive. Perhaps the Mage was unwilling to share, or just plain unhappy. But when Turino next opened his mouth to answer the question, nothing came.

His glare faded quickly—his eyes of obsidian blinked in confusion, those graceful depths turbulent with sorrow. He didn't know what to say.

"She—I—it's not—"

He stopped and gasped, still blinking. "Forget that! All you have to know is that it isn't worth it, Ketara. Stop being stupid. If you want to be happy, leave her, and ignore her for the rest of your life. You'll only hurt yourself."

Ketara pursed his lips and looked down into his lap. "I can't," he replied. "I don't just push friends away like that. I'll live through whatever she throws at me—for the sake of the joy that comes with it. And she's really a better person than you tell me she is. She's…troubled, that's all. She won't tell me why."

Turino rolled his eyes. "You're such an idiot," he sighed. "Suit yourself."

Ketara would have replied—but suddenly he felt himself gag involuntarily instead, an uncomfortable heat rising in his throat. "Urghh—" he gasped, hand clamped over his mouth. The Dragon Knight leapt from the sofa and dashed to the toilet, slamming the door shut.

-

_ralinn: from the start of time_

The Clocktower's beauty was as close to divine as anything worldly could be.

The jigsaw puzzle patterns in the shadows throbbed with a dim magenta glow, melting into icy sweeps of starlight lower down, shimmering walls that never seemed to end.

"Ooh," Clynine murmured, fascinated, her gaze caught somewhere in the shimmering ceiling. Walking at the front of the group, Ralinn took a deep breath of the cold atmosphere.

"So…" Raydan had appeared beside his sister. "You do know where we're going, right?"

"Shh!" Ralinn replied, pretending to sulk at him. "I'm thinking!"

"There's…a lift there," Zethis murmured, appearing beside the guild leader and pointing at the glass pillar on which the ladder was mounted. "On the other side." Nodding, she walked over to inspect it, the rest coming to watch.

The refraction made the shapes of the door and the platform beyond clear—but only as far as where the shadows began beneath. Ralinn felt around the edge of the sliding doors for an opening mechanism. Nothing.

"Here, instructions." Lanoré's call made everyone turn to where she bent down, observing a small engraved tablet made of frosted glass, shimmering in the invisible light of the path. She began to read.

_"'Your heart take you not_

_Into a nonexistent world_

_An everlasting rhythm guide you—_

_Forget the lies and echo her words:_

_"All here is gone. It may never live again—"'"_

On cue, the doors slid open. Without much apprehension, they entered, the stars blurring behind closing glass doors. Almost instantly, it began to descend.

"I've got to talk to with whoever does maintenance around here," Raydan muttered, kicking the glass walls as if doing so might make the contraption move faster.

"Stop that," Akera growled. "You're still my servant, Raydan. Do as you're told." He sulked, but could not argue—so he folded his arms and withdrew to a corner. It wasn't often that Ralinn got to see someone bullying her brother, so she took the time to appreciate it.

The lift finally arrived at the bottom level—the Origin, as it had always been called. The Orion's Belt members found themselves in a vast room, walls and platforms constructed the same way as Ludibrium was.

On the central platform, before a huge clock, stood three people. Two women and a man. The women had blue hair—one had hers shimmering in waves down her shoulders; the other's was short. The man's hair was long and black, a perfect straight waterfall that descended almost all the way to the ground. They were all pale as snow.

"Wow…they're beautiful," Raydan murmured in captivation beside Ralinn. "Even the guy."

Ralinn didn't respond. Instead, she made the first move, greeting them. "Good morning," she whispered.

"Morning?" The woman with the longer hair questioned briefly, eyes still empty. "We do not recognise morning, child. Here, all time is the same—melted into a single vast river." She ignored Ralinn's silent terror. "I am Arelyn. These are my kin, Ayris and Kalia—we are like siblings, but not technically so, since we weren't born."

"You weren't_ born_? Did you appear out of nowhere?" Raydan exclaimed in bewilderment.

"Doesn't anyone ever teach you to keep your mouth shut?" Akera asked impatiently. "Do you know how _rude_ that sounded?"

Disregarding them, Ralinn apologised for her brother's interruption. "It's fine," Arelyn responded. "It is a valid question. And so I will answer it. We were handmade by the Clock Spirit—It created us with Its power, and calls us Its children. We have been alive since the start of time itself."

Arelyn's expression saddened while the guild leader was still trying to come to terms with her words. The other two drew slightly closer, Kalia placing a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, she went on. "Our creation, of course, was with purpose," the blue-haired lady said. "I write time's events, Kalia protects its passage, and Ayris destroys it. And we have a prophecy to fulfil—_'They seek you twice, a shattered world cradled in their hands.'_"

Ralinn tried to smile despite that depression in her eyes. "You aren't the only ones with a divine task to fulfil, then," she replied. "We're here with a similar calling. So we want to know if there is a part of the Spear of Heaven here. We have reason to believe so."

"Perhaps," Kalia replied. "We witnessed the battle, and we saw the shaft fall through the ceiling. But then it melted into dust, and we do not know where it reappeared. You may search, though."

Thanking them, Ralinn looked back at the rest. "Alright, we have permission," she said. "Go—everyone, find a separate place in the Clocktower and start searching. It could well take a week—so hurry."

Almost everyone set off without a complaint. Letting out a breath in relief, the guild leader made her way to the lift.

-

_akera: the distant dream_

One person remained, when the rest had all departed—Akera, convinced that she had no definitive obligation to follow orders. She would so much rather find out about the Clocktower inhabitants than go looking for a spear shaft that could be anywhere in this vast building.

So while the rest vanished through the lift door, Akera stayed behind.

"Why have you not followed them?" Arelyn asked. The Fire Poison Mage looked up, observing the three.

Ayris and Kalia smiled vaguely, hands interlocked—but their joy was shallow. Beneath it Akera could see cold loneliness in Kalia's eyes, dark depression in Ayris'. "Are you three always like that?" She walked closer, calling on the spark of fire at her heart to keep out the chill of the Clocktower.

All three fixed their glimmering eyes on the white-haired mage—silver, coal black, deep blue. "Well, what else do you expect of the Writer, Guardian and Destroyer? We have duties towards Time itself, and Time only. We do nothing else."

"I understand," she replied. Wandering over to the clock behind the three, the mage gazed up at the glass—and to her surprise, she saw images flitting across it. Images of the Ellinia Station, of Grendel's Magic Library, of her friends, a vast ocean… "What's this?"

Ayris' reply managed to house a little amusement. "That is the most beautiful clock in the world," he said. "Mortals see their own memories in it. But among the three of us, we see all the pasts, presents and futures of the world."

Akera's pursed her lips as she took in this information. "Does it do anything else?"

"Yes. Yes, but you wouldn't want to try. For us, it provides for self-control practice. But I fear a mortal might not be able to withstand its test—"

She whirled furiously around. "Well, you'll never know!" The determined pride was sparking brightly again, and they stepped away from her in shock. "Come on, try me! Don't assume that all _mortals_ fall under the same caste!"

All three blinked. Arelyn was the first to answer, and the look in her eyes was fearful. "It will toy with your emotions," she replied, slightly furious. "If you can't withstand it, you'll certainly lose your soul—"

"Any way out of it?"

"Like I mentioned, it is a device meant to train us to be oblivious to emotion. So in order to free yourself, you must break free of what you feel—rely only on what you know and what you are certain of. In the state of training, you cannot even trust your beliefs."

"But that is not the only danger you must caution yourself against," Kalia quickly added. "If you leave alive, you might leave with less humanity. That clock is all it will take to transform a vengeful man into a heartless murderer."

_That._ That drove doubt into Akera's heart. But she glanced up at the clock face and heard its clattering clockwork, and she clenched her fist.

"Yes, yes. I'm sure. I won't let a stupid _clock_ beat me."

"Honestly," Arelyn muttered. "I don't wish to see a mortal die from stupidity like this."

"Don't call me stupid," Akera growled, touching the glass.

"Alright, since you are so insistent. I do wish I had done more to stop you, though. Wait for the clock to take you in. Once it does, it will ask you questions—and all you have to do, to escape, is to answer them all."

Akera did as told. The images swam messily before her eyes, rushing through and in between the frames of her perspective, before they merged into a single pool. The clock hands were whirling, whirling, till they formed three dark concentric circles in the shining lights, before her dazed vision.

A windy voice snatched her consciousness, whirling through her ears._ "Akera, Akera, Akera. You know that you are special, do you not? Why have you chosen to pit yourself against me?"_

Answer the question. "You posed me with a challenge," Akera replied steadily. "You presented yourself in my life, and now I will never rest till I have beaten you."

_"And what if you do not…beat me?"_

"What makes you so certain that I won't?"

_"Alright, then, Akera. But it is only my role to challenge you as best I can—and so I will. I know your life. I know the moments that will destroy you. I know the weak links in your soul."_

Akera felt the painful lump return to her throat, as the colours whirled away, and the lines began to solidify in the mess.

_"I'll ask you this simple question. Just a simple question, really. You can answer it; I know you're fully capable."_

Windows, carpets, cushions. A coffee table. Sunlight, streaming sunlight.

_"When did your world vanish, Akera? When did you destroy it?"_

Suddenly, Akera's throat hurt. For she knew what was happening here. She knew what was forming around her.

Her old home. Her old sitting room. Her old world.

Akera looked up, heart brimming, with everything. There was someone sitting on the sofa, gazing out into the afternoon.

_…Mum._

_Oh, mum._

Akera felt the dream engulf her. Suddenly, all consciousness of her old world began to dull, fade into greys and blacks. The only thing left in her eyes was the home she had once known—the face of the mother she hadn't seen in more than a decade.

Now the _Clocktower_ was the dream. A strange past that, for all she knew, might never have existed. A past that she would dream of, occasionally, as she gazed up into the dark sky beside her mother, her breaths steady in the cool night air.

Without hesitation, she turned to the sofa. "Mum…Mum…I feel as if I haven't seen, you for so long!" Akera called, running into the room, hot chocolate sloshing in the mug she held.

"But you were only in the kitchen for five minutes!" Jazora Asfel replied with a bright smile, turning away from the window to watch her with beautiful blue eyes. "Silly girl! You're imagining things again!"

"Hardly 'silly'," Akera replied disdainfully, glancing down at the mug in her hands. Somewhere in her heart, she suddenly felt the gentle brush of distant dreams, almost like butterfly wings—dreams of an explosion of fire, of falling embers, of charred wood and grinning skulls.

But that was probably another nightmare. Wasn't it so strange, that those images were so hard to remember?

"Come on, I think there's a storm coming," the girl's mother called, gesturing for Akera to go over. She ran there, for she loved to watch the lightning and rain, and sometimes she wondered if she should become an Ice Lightning Mage. The girl gazed out of the windows. Ships were pulling into the harbour, and for some strange reason, fury tugged at her heart. She turned to see that her mother was watching, slightly tensed.

"So…your job. What do you want to be? Mage? Thief? Warrior? I heard that those Crusader swords are nice. And the Dragon Knight weapons."

_Crusader. Dragon Knight._ Briefly, Akera's brow creased—she felt a surge of strange familiarity at the mention of those jobs. "Nah…those Doombringers are fat and useless…"

Her mother turned, surprised. "Doombringers? Have you seen them before?"

Akera straightened, trying to recall. She had—she had! _This handsome guy with long brown hair. He's waiting for me…_

But before she could get a grip on that memory, white light slipped between it and her. While she gazed on into the grey sky with frustration, a small angry voice tore through her mind. Just softly.

_Answer the question!_

The young girl shook her head, blinking. What a strange day. She tried to concentrate on the darkening sky outside, her legs curling up on the plush sofa beside her mother.

"Mum…let's play match cards."

"Match cards?" her mother turned with curiosity. "Why would I want to do that? It's quite a waste of time, don't you think?"

Something struck Akera. Right there. _There._

_Mum likes to play match cards. She's always asking me to do it._

_Something isn't right here._

"Please, mum?" she persisted—but her mother only shook her head at her daughter's insistence.

_No. Something's definitely wrong._

She looked desperately around at the house, hoping to find out why things felt so strangely out of place, all of a sudden. All those dreams she had had—were they only dreams? _Falling embers, charred wood._

Akera glanced up at the rafters and blinked. All at once, she could see them falling in flames, the walls crumbling—and though she only imagined, the thoughts drove unrealistically powerful terror through her.

_The truth. I must find the truth._

_Akera! Akera, where are you?_

_Are you sure about this world?_

She panted._ Akera. You know who you are. You know what's happening._

Again, the girl looked up at her mother, noting her pensive expression, the curtains filled with stormy wind. She could feel the cloth of cushion covers under her fingers, smell the ocean and the smoke on the wind.

But her uncertainty continued to swell, gnawing continuously at her brain. She hugged her knees close to her chest, trying to coax the answer out of the corners of her consciousness.

_You know who you are. You know, somewhere, Akera. Somewhere._

Somehow, everything around her was growing more unreal, yet harder to let go of—as if something were trying to stop her from accessing her real memories.

_Akera. This isn't it. This doesn't feel right. It's somewhere else—_

_Why are you here? AKERA!_

_"Akera, it's really an—honour to meet you."_

_ "Akera, you should read this."_

_"Get a life, Akera!"_

_"Akera. While you are still in my guild, and I am your leader, you will follow my instructions…"_

_"Akera! Akera, you'd better not back down!"_

_Orion's Belt._

The name was like the note of a gong. Like a flood of rain, everything began to pour upon her. Suddenly, she was remembering strange moments—

Herself, binding sails on the Ellinia-Orbis ship. Balancing on a branch in the middle of the night. Hiding from guards. Leaping from the sky, falling through a world of emerald. Turning her face to the windy sea.

_Yes…I remember._

_The king. The Station._

_Orion's Belt._

Tears sprang to her eyes. Tears because she had realised that this world had never been, and would never be. Tears, because she knew that there was another world, another life waiting for her somewhere.

_I…I know. I know where my real life is._

_It isn't here._

Suddenly, it was too much for her to take—just a seven-year-old who had made the most terrifying realisation in her life. Dizzy, confused, Akera screamed. She pulled back against the sofa, back pressed against the armrest.

"Mother—" she gasped. "Mother—you _fake_! This is a lie—a lie, and nothing more! A_ LIE_!" It wasn't real. Wasn't real. All these things she seemed to remember—they _must_ be the truth. They rang with her heart.

And then, the rest of the images returned, whirling around her in a mad merry-go-round of flames, faces that rose and melted before she could touch them. Fireworks were spinning through the world, turning their paths black, giving way to pits of blazing wood and fallen beams.

The ashes, the ashes, the ashes. Skulls lying in the dust, crusted with soot and burning death. It wasn't a dream. This was what had happened.

Somewhere in the world of all truths, in the world of pasts and futures, she had killed them.

_No…no—_

"I _am_ here, Akera!" her mother replied. "You're just throwing a tantrum, aren't you?"

She snarled, rising to her full height. "No!" the girl—the Mage called. "I know this isn't real. I know this is not the life that was—"

Akera's mother took her hand—her grip so warm, so real. Akera felt helpless tears pour down her cheeks, though she knew, she knew it wasn't there. "I'll keep you safe, Akera," the woman said desperately. "We can be the family you always thought we wouldn't be! We can live on, without knowing what the world outside believes. You, me, Dad. Just us, forever!"

The Mage's lip was trembling with the tears, the tears like arrows. "Yes Mum," she said, words shaking. "Yes, I want that. I really do. But I can't…" She struggled to fight, the world wavering between those dark memories of flame, and these false images of heartbreaking warmth.

_It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real._

Again, Akera gasped in pain. She swallowed, engulfed in the warmth of her mother's arms.

_There's a world waiting somewhere there. Somewhere, beyond the reach of my heart. An imperfect world; a world about to be destroyed. A world to which I truly belong._

_…_

These strange songs. These strange words, whirling in ribbons through her thoughts. What were they? Where would they take her…

_"Your heart take you not into a nonexistent world, an everlasting rhythm guide you. Forget the lies and echo her words: All here is gone. It may never live again."_

_Remember that it's already gone. Remember, and you'll never have to recall._

It's over, and I'm glad that it is!

"No, Mum, I can't come," Akera whispered. "No."

Then she narrowed her eyes, and flung her mother's arms away. Her face continued to display anger, though her heart was crying. "And you will not stop me, _Mum!_ I know you're just a dream. You will never give me what you promise." The Mage snarled, gulping the tears back. "If you _were_ real, you would know who I truly am, and what my name truly entails!"

She clenched a fist, focused her strength there, and fire sparked to life in her hand—to her horror, her delight. And though she now grinned savagely, her throat was burning with tears, her eyes slowly growing misty.

"I am Akera, the Fire Mage. Akera, of Lith Harbor. Akera, the peasant's daughter, the child prodigy—the girl who killed her parents at seven years old."

From her hands the magic soared and expanded, swallowing the imaginary world. Light, fury, flame—throwing everything into a blazing storm like a million circling firebirds in a thunderous dance. And Akera could feel the tears cascading down her cheeks as the flames raged through her palms, pouring in sheets and torrents upon the image of the one person she had loved all her life.

The body slumped down before her, a blackened figure—still breathing slightly, dying away. But where there should have been screeches of pain, there was no sound. Only resigned silence, and sobs of terror, spiralling into an abyss beyond.

Suddenly, it was too much for her to bear.

_"Mum!"_ Akera cried, the fire falling and dying, as she felt her resolve disintegrate. "Mum, no!"

Yes, it was a dream, just a dream. Her real mother had died, years ago. She was talking to her own fantasies, and drifting closer to death every moment.

But this present reality was all that mattered. The_ thing _she was doing, the actions pouring from her heart and soul. She was killing her own mother.

"Forgive me," she whispered hoarsely, kneeling down beside Jazora Asfel. "I wish I had a choice, but I don't…"

In that moment, Akera felt a question whisper, just softly, to her through the window, and she turned, the grey storm light falling upon her face.

_"When did your world vanish?"_ it said, almost mockingly. _"When did you destroy it?"_

Akera mind worked quickly through the numbers, and almost instantly turned up her answer. "Twelve years, five months, twenty-one days ago," she recited.

_"Sorry. Try again."_

She bit her lip. Beside her, her mother murmured in pain once more. Was there another way to answer?

_When did your world vanish? When—_

_Is the answer…the time, then?_

As Akera closed her eyes, the day rushed back to fill her memory. One by one, the details of the memory appeared, growing clearer—the clouds flooding the sky, the ships pulling into the harbour, upon the raging ocean. The tower bell…

_The tower bell chimed five-fifteen, a golden song that flooded the air._

She glanced down at her dying mother and clenched her fists tightly, forcing the warmth and hope out of her heart, just for moments. She had to answer. She would lose this world, everything in it—but she knew that she had to answer.

"Five-fifteen in the afternoon," Akera said. "Exactly five-fifteen, a few seconds later. I did something I never should have."

Then there was a laugh in the sky. _"Very well played, Akera,"_ the same voice said in congratulations. _"You have the right answer."_

But by then, Akera's attention was all but gone. She had eyes only for her false mother's face now, and the dark pain in her expression. The Mage gazed down at the sad smile, the beautiful sky-blue eyes that she had inherited—and at once, the tears returned.

She had to say it, now she had the chance. No, she would never have the freedom she longed—but a prisoner could always enjoy the moments when she glimpsed the world. It was the closest she would ever get.

"Mum, I love you," Akera said, grasping her hand. "I…I was always too proud to admit it. I thought I didn't need to acknowledge my love. But I do…"

Her mother's smile widened slightly on her burnt lips. She reached out to brush her daughter's cheek with blistered fingers, while tears rose again. "I know," she said warmly, fingers fading. "I've always known, Akera."

While the images melted into the light, the Mage watched that ashen smile fade away into a white horizon that she would never reach again. She collapsed upon the shining ground in the breeze, crying into the sky, crying as she hugged her knees—crying for all the pain, all these burning, turning circles of hate and guilt and anger, for these twelve years, five months, the barrier she would never cross. The edges of her universe shattered, the light and darkness tearing into petals around her.

_I'm sorry I didn't save you, Mum. But I'll always love you, because I promised. Even after you leave, even after the words end and the ink dries, even after the world has abandoned me. Because I promised._

Her heart yearned for the voice of her mother again. For the slight figure at the window, for the smile in blue eyes. But it never came, and her tears became the lament of a dying phoenix.

At that point, the voice suddenly returned, quavering. _"I stand corrected,"_ it said tiredly. _"Too well played, Akera. You…win."_

Then around her, Akera heard glass shatter. Shards flew across her skin, soaring through the air, drawing deep red lines across her arms. The images fell like curtains, and she was surrounded by the Clocktower walls, the remains of reality sinking in.

The giant clock short-circuited, blue sparks exploding all over its broken face. The longest clock hand fell upon the ground with the resonant ring of metal, and the structure collapsed backwards, thundering on the floor of the Origin.

Akera looked down at her arms, where she bled from a thousand different scratches. She turned around to face the three, grimness in her heart, tears in her gaze.

"Akera," Arelyn murmured, her silver eyes very wide. She looked on ahead, disbelief refusing to desert her features. "I must remember your name. Akera."

"It was supposed to play with _your_ mind," Ayris murmured. "Yet you managed to turn the tables and destroy it. It's not everyday that someone short-circuits the eternal clock, you know."

"Yes, yes—Akera. I had better remember that name." Kalia turned to her, blue eyes bright. "I think we will be encountering you again, sometime soon. Such a strong child…"

She refused to smile. Her skin was stinging all over, and she felt like had just gone through her entire life again. "I should have stayed," she whispered, touching her wounds. "I'd have paid for my sin, and I wouldn't have to regret anymore." Then she looked up at the three Clocktower guardians, and somehow, their shared pain brought a smile to her eyes. "But there're people here, waiting for me too. There are people here to whom I'm indebted."

Slowly, the Mage walked to the fallen clock hand. Picking the long hand up from among the shards of glass, she felt the scratches on her palms sting. The long, thin shaft shimmered—black, white, grey, all the colours between.

_Maybe. Hm…_

It was a beautiful shaft. Perhaps the shaft of an all-powerful spear.

As Akera grasped it in her hand and began to walk away, she felt it buzz with power, its warmth too reassuring to be something human-constructed. That got rid of all her doubts.

"Is that it?" Arelyn called.

"Mmhmm, thanks," Akera replied. "If you hadn't let me use the clock, we'd never have found this thing. Your assistance will be remembered when we're the heroes of Victoria Island." She smiled, with just a little pride.

* * *

_summer_

Ralinn came to rest at the top of the ladder, sitting upon the blocks and panting from exhaustion. Shirion appeared moments later, considerably less tired than she was. But he sat beside her anyway, and turned, smiling.

"Want a drink?" he asked, producing a waterskin before she even answered. Ralinn smiled shyly and reached for it—her fingers accidentally touched his.

"Uh—thanks," she murmured, quickly looking down and taking it. "Strange place to be resting…"

Suddenly the wind was washing over the world. Both looked up into the magenta lights, breathing deep with deep calm—but each never really forgetting the presence of the other.

And neither mentioned how fast their hearts were thumping, as they sat side by side, discussing the most meaningless topics in the world. As they spoke, Shirion found his mind wandering. He tried to look up into her eyes, but his gaze only fell, all courage fading.

_I know what's going on, _he suddenly realised._ I know why this is happening._

Ralinn couldn't help but smile, at the way he lowered his gaze so desperately. Finally, she knew why she couldn't concentrate on anything, whenever he was around. She knew why she always needed him to be close by her. And he knew, too.

_I'm in love._

They glanced at each other again. Ralinn laughed nervously; Shirion turned away, smiling. But neither uttered a word. Neither dared.

* * *

A cool wind swept through the Clocktower—a stray wind hailing from a world to which they would return, a world they already missed so much. How warm it was! The moments were shifting—a single gale of time in a world of timelessness.

* * *

Akera kept the shaft strapped to her belt, as she scaled the ladder. For a few moments, the exhausted Mage raised her face to the fruit-scented wind, and a smile swept across her lips.

* * *

Soon the trees would be laden with fruit, Clynine knew as she gazed up at the summer wind, sweeping through the starlit corridors. Soon, everyone would be in celebration. For now, there would be no need to worry about their problems. Summer was joy, and the summer sun would sweep the coldness away.

* * *

The winds tossed the curtains wide—winds that didn't carry the wintry cold, winds that marked the end of the spring. Ketara and Turino gazed out the window, the Dragon Knight smiling; the Mage simply folded his arms and sighed, dark eyes full of calm.

* * *

_Spring ends, _the winds called out. _Summer comes—summer, of fruits, and sunshine, and rainy afternoons!_

The Dragon and the Goddess touched the skies, blessing Victoria and Ossyria and all the lands they guarded. All over the world, as the first summer night began, the people were praying in their gardens for prosperity and luck.

And in heaven, the deities were praying too—praying for a chance in destiny.

_Will this work, the way we hoped it would at the start? Will the Spirit fall, or will we fail ourselves?_

It wasn't for them to know. These were things that only one being in the entire universe had knowledge about.

And at the edge of Time, the Clock Spirit gazed upon the world, smiling to Itself, content that Its work was done.

* * *

Just a demographic. Which is your favourite character, if you have one?

Well, hope you liked that. It was slow, I know. Congratulations on getting here.

And I leave you with this: Chapter 8 will be filled with action! Promise!


	8. Year of the Rabbit: The Ire of Life

Okay. I gave up on waiting for 105 reviews. My best friend read it in school today, and asked me to post it so she could read it again at home. So I will fulfill her wish. :D

First half: heavy romance. Second half: heavy action and philosophy. There should be something at the table for everyone.

CAUTION: Fan-service (unnecessary exposure of, er, skin), some vulgarities (my first time). Yay.

Excuse me once again for the word count. This chapter runs like a full story. I've gotten good comments on this (from the aforementioned best friend), so look forward to it!

* * *

Chapter 8: Year of the Rabbit/ The Ire of Life

_It all ends with the dance, my dear. It all ends with the dance._

* * *

_the age of death_

The world was rising from a shallow, fitful sleep. Lacy morning rays slipped through the branches to dapple the soil, blessing the few straggly saplings that had survived the rampage.

No. _He _didn't want seedlings. He wanted _trees. _Real _trees._

Through the sparse remains of Minar Forest flew a messenger. Fallen around him, the trees' bodies were marked and scarred, blades still lodged deep in their bark like metal splinters.

_He_ wanted trees. Fresh-cut, unmarked trees.

Up the front stairs he dashed, throwing the door open to find himself face to face with a huge, scarred man who almost didn't fit behind his tiny desk. Cautiously, the messenger approached him, bowing. _That _had to be Naol, the chief woodcutter. No doubt about it.

"I bring an order from the king," the youth recited. "Eighty thousand logs, to be delivered to the Henesys Castle by the twelfth of Aries."

Before him, the heavily-built man folded his arms round his barrel chest. "Those wyverns aren't getting any more generous, ya know," the great man growled, chewing on his cigar. "What's it this time? A new prison holding ground?"

"No—a luxury extension to his castle, apparently," he responded.

Muttering something, the burly woodcutter dragged his chair back across the makeshift hut floor, gesturing for his spokesperson to come. The girl dashed across the floor of the hut. "Tell the men that more wood is needed," Naol said, tapping his tabletop. "Eighty thousand logs. Now shoo, Loril. Hurry up."

The girl opened the door and ran into the forest. For a moment, the roar of awakening machinery gushed into the hut, smoke and fuel suffocating him. Both turned back to face each other, eyes locking.

"Well?"

"Nothing more sir, thank you sir." With a final greeting, the young messenger opened the door and sped away into the burnt Leafre morning.

By the road, the machinery was chewing at the forest already, trees thundering down into the litter of leaves. Looking up, his gaze met the iron blades of the tractors, his eardrums ripped by screeches of metal as they slugged over the ground.

Swallowing, he dashed away, carrying the images of fallen gods and rustling corpses with him as he went.

* * *

_horned tail: a child with all their dreams_

From the circle above, a deity spoke with His son.

_"I always knew, Horned Tail. I always knew that the humans would become the way they are. For they are the perfection of my art, and they are gods in their own right."_

_"Father…"_

_"The existence of life begets the existence of sacrifice. Perfection cannot exist without pain. But I am pleased, and I will leave the humans as they are."_

Horned Tail blinked tears from their six eyes, raising their gazes to the volcano mouth. It held few stars, gemstones in a pool of blue magma. How many more there must be! From here, they could only see seventeen.

The Dragon felt Horned Tail's desolation. _"Do not despair, my son!"_ He called. _"There is another child of mine—a child who neither loathes nor spites. I hold him in high regard."_ The deity sighed, voice softening with tenderness._ "I wish for you to meet him. You will recognise him, surely, for the brand of my power is strong upon him. He will bring you all your dreams—I swear!"_

Horned Tail watched with glazed, glimmering eyes as the stars twinkled. All three had heard such wonderful things about the world outside—from the wyverns and kentauri, from the birds that flitted in through the volcano mouth. They had told him of the wonders of the sky, the leaves—and they, too, had told him of the forest dying.

And so Horned Tail dreamt, every day, of healing their forest. Of seeing the world. Of flying with the wyverns, and watching the stars.

Their father believed that a _human _would bring all these dreams to life.

How? They were trapped, trapped by fate and by their own father. Only in death would they be released. Three souls in one body—a body that would die only when its heart was torn away.

How would this human child grant all these things? It had to be a lie. It _was_ a lie.

So they sighed and continued to cry, and the magma pools of the volcano continued to whisper lullabies to them.

* * *

_shirion: blue birds and candy_

"Yes, blue birds will render extra services to those who pay in candy, you know?" exclaimed Ralinn, tilting her head.

Shirion laughed. Actually _laughed. _"Blue birds?" he asked. "We don't actually encounter them very much, do we?" The Crusader shook his head with a smile, glancing up—

He froze as his eyes met a pair of ice-blue ones. Their mindless conversation came to a halt.

"Oh, hello, Akera."

"Blue birds! Candy!" Akera muttered, arms folded. "When did we start having enough time to discuss _that?_"

Ralinn blinked as if she had been hit by a dart. "Oh, _right!_" she gasped. "Goodness_, _how long have we been lazing around? We'd better go—"

The Mage raised a hand. "No worries. I've found it," she said with unmasked pride, pulling a thin pole-like object from her belt.

* * *

_ketara: a thing_

_Was I ever meant to be here, now, where I stand?_

Ketara gazed out the window. He played with his collar, the hem of his shirt—but it didn't matter if he _could _feel these things.

When he thought about "past", he only saw one person. _Hair of blue lightning. Blood eyes. Painted black claws…_

The Dragon Knight clutched at his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying not to think of her nails, _oh Goddess, _her nails!

_Is there any other way to explain it? I'm a _thing. _Just an artificially constructed _thing. _Others are the product of a love, even a fleeting love. I—am the product of curiosity. Blasphemy._

_A creature that wasn't made by the Dragon…_

Suddenly frustrated, he pinched his arm hard. Not enough. He dug his nails deep into his arm. Still not enough. He kicked the table leg—the jolt of pain made tears spring to his eyes. And for moments, just moments, the Dragon Knight could believe that he was just like everyone else. _Real._

"Real," he murmured to reassure himself. But in his heart, he didn't believe his own words.

* * *

_ralinn: the dance_

"Guess what we found, guys!"

The door banged open—instantaneously, Raydan leapt onto the sofa, yelling.

As Ralinn stepped through the doorway, she felt heavy sleepiness prickle in her eyelids. _Another message, _she thought vaguely while the rest of the guild filled the room. The guild leader made straight for the sofa and lay down, allowing sleep to blanket her.

The dream began almost at once. _"Ah, Ralinn_—y_our time is limited. It all ends with the dance, my dear. It all ends with the dance."_

The guild leader's mouth fell open. _"What?" _she gasped. _The dance? _"Why can't you just—give your instructions more clearly?"

But when Ralinn blinked, she found herself back on the sofa. The Ranger cursed softly. _Hey, that's not fair! What do you mean, "It all ends with the dance"?_

Somewhere ahead of her, the Ranger heard a yell. "Raydan! Get me some orange juice, _please_!" It was Akera.

_This really can't go on, _she thought, frustration welling up. _We've got to move on! But _what _does that mean?_

Sighing and stretching her arms, Ralinn stood and went to the door. Maybe a walk would do her good.

Down the road strolled the Ranger, towards the marketplace. All the way, many of the local townsfolk were window-shopping. Children ate ice cream, small crowds watching as a magician turned ores into gemstones.

The guild leader yawned from sheer relaxation. But that was when a large billboard decided to stop her in her tracks.

"_ANNUAL SUMMER FESTIVAL BALL"._

Shocked, Ralinn paused, glancing through the details. _Ludibrium Station, second floor, 10__th__ of Aries… _An attractive offer, for someone who hadn't enjoyed herself for years. But why should they stay any longer in Ludibrium for this…?

_It all ends with the dance, my dear._

She blinked, connecting the two happenings in an instant.

Of course! That was _it. _This _had _to be the answer to the dream riddle. Sighing with relief, Ralinn turned around and made her speedy way back home.

* * *

_partners_

"We're going to the summer festival ball, guys!"

The instant Ralinn appeared at the doorway, these were the words she shouted.

"What in the Clock Spirit's name—?"

"Precisely; I'm confused too," the guild leader responded. "But that's what the voice said…"

The chatter didn't take long to start after that, some voicing disbelief, some sounding enthusiastic. "What kind of dance?" Akera asked apprehensively.

Ralinn walked over to stand among the rest, as they directed their attention to her. "You know…the usual kind, with the gowns and suits and probably an orchestra?" the Ranger went on. Clynine's face brightened. Telida's face fell. By now, glances were being exchanged, and when the next question came, everyone almost expected it.

"Are we, like, going in pairs?" It was Raydan.

Instantly, the conversation volume skyrocketed.

"Everyone _shut up!" _the frustrated guild leader yelled. Silence fell immediately, but the restlessness was still apparent in their eyes. "Now, if you can't find a partner, just walk around and mingle with the other people attending. Whatever it is, you must all be there. Alright?"

All nine nodded quietly. A ball—such a dangerous business it was. What might happen now?

* * *

_turino: the girl beneath the vines_

He stood at the doorway, watching her ever so uncertainly—the girl who rested in the cool shade of the vine arch. The garden was a spectacular one—but in _her _presence, he noticed not.

As he watched her blink the light out of her icy eyes, Turino felt his heart lurch.

He wanted to ask her to the dance.

The mage closed his eyes, and reflected. For the past months, he had noticed something. A change in behaviour, whenever Akera was around. He became less rude, less angry, less discontent. He even felt…_shy_. He wanted to look away. He didn't want to meet her eyes.

Why was this happening? This was so unlike him…

Confused, he watched as Akera sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Bending farther out of the doorway to observe her, he found himself smiling—she was troubled, it appeared, and it was suddenly so _dazzling_…

She looked up—met his eye with surprise. Gasping, Turino slipped back into the house, heart aching as if a knife had suddenly been plunged deep into his chest.

He wanted to ask Akera to the dance, so badly. Yet one thing held him back. Fear.

_When…did I start being _afraid _of speaking to others?_

* * *

_clynine: shining ray_

The garden of their rented house was generously laid out. It wrapped around three walls of the house, flowerbeds bordering a field of grass.

At the centre of the greenery, Clynine breathed deep. _I know I can. _Her mistress watched in expectance, smiling. This would be her very first attempt at Shining Ray—something almost no other Cleric had ever tried before.

Staring down into the pond water, the Cleric breathed, one last time, and closed her eyes.

_Sharpen. _The light streamed swiftly into her palm, as it always had since the start of her magician days. It gathered in her fingers, leaping with energy. _Sharpen. Sharpen._

The energy was disobedient. It continued to jump about in her arms, screaming to break free. _Sharpen, _she thought more adamantly, calling out to each individual strand of energy. _Sharpen! Form an arrow!_

Then there it was—it felt like something snapping into position. They were aligning. The bolts sidled roughly against each other, forcing themselves apart—but Clynine continued to push them into a straight line…

Sweat ran down the sides of her face. Her breaths were shortening with effort, her arm slowly beginning to burn. But she couldn't let go! It wasn't time to let it go—not yet, not yet—

Clynine felt the hardened shape of a burning arrow. Only briefly.

With all the energy that still hung on the thread between her heart and her fingers, she raised her staff like a bow. She felt a smile leap to her lips, only for seconds—exhaustion quickly fell upon her, and she knew she had to use her strength to aim and fire—

_The fountain. Fountain. _Through her clouded vision, Clynine sought out the shape of the fish head, spitting jets of sparkling water in an arc over the pond. The Cleric lined up the point of her arrow with the tip. And she gave a cry, letting it fly, stumbling backwards with a blind gasp for breath.

Then she cried out in frustration. Her arms had swung down, just a little—and that was enough to direct the projectile south, straight into the base of the statue. The granite fish shook in its cradle, almost collapsing on its side.

"I'm so sorry—" Clynine gasped, falling back upon the grass, lights shifting across her vision. The sunlight fell warmly upon her face, and she barely made out the shape of Lanoré's head above. "Mistress…I'm so sorry, I didn't hit it."

"But you got something out—something that looked like a Shining Ray," she responded calmly. The Cleric felt the Archmage's strong fingers grasp her own, and in moments she was standing again. "Alright, find yourself a larger target."

Clynine began to search—but she was abruptly distracted from her task when she caught sight of a face at the window. "Zethis!" the girl shouted happily, running to the window.

"Arghh!" The blonde youth stumbled back, before his face vanished from the window. Confused, the Cleric climbed onto the parapet to look inside, before noticing Zethis on the kitchen floor, looking very dazed.

Clynine giggled. "My, are you alright?" she asked as he stood clumsily. Another shadow fell across the kitchen floor—Lanoré had appeared beside her.

"Uh—uh—hi!" Zethis finally exclaimed, blushing. His eyes were gentle bright brown, the Cleric suddenly noticed—and deeply expressive, beneath the locks of straw-gold that fell over his eyes.

He _was _pretty cute, she finally decided.

The aforementioned mistress prodded her in the ribs. "Hey, Clynine—ask him to the ball," she whispered with a smile. Clynine raised her eyebrows, then seeing the logic behind it, she nodded.

The girl waved a hand. "Would you—go to the ball with me?" she asked breathlessly.

Zethis stumbled back, turning very pale. "W-what? You…d-did you say…"

"Yes, will you go to the ball with me?" she repeated with more vigour.

"I—I'd be honoured to!" the youth replied with shock, turning away. "I…I…yeah, of course—"

Suddenly, the White Knight swooned against the kitchen wall. Clynine called out in concern, watching with amusement. "I'm—I'm fine," he gasped, sitting down and breathing deeply. With a last laugh and a silent cheer, the Cleric left.

* * *

_akera: broken hopes_

Akera ascended the stairs, fingers crossed, as she headed for the study. Shirion would be reading there right now, if she had read his behavioural patterns correctly.

In her chest her heart thumped crazily, like a fugitive trying to escape. Breathing deep as the wind tumbled down, she stilled her heart and continued to run, holding tightly to her courage. She could ask him now, she knew!

The door opened before her, and she took another breath. How nervous she felt! How would he respond?

"Shirion!" Akera exclaimed, soaring across the floor.

On the sofa, Shirion turned. "Akera," he exclaimed back in surprise. "What is it?"

But at that moment, her eyes shifted to the person beside him, and she felt her heart drop like a stone—and the words left.

"Hello, Akera," Ralinn said, smiling slightly.

"Um…hi," the Mage responded weakly, blinking in disbelief. "Am I…intruding?"

"No, it's fine!" Shirion replied quickly. "Do you want to read as well?"

Akera shook her head. Her orderly mind was suddenly a vast, chaotic mess, as she slowly came to terms with what lay before her.

_Shirion—_

She thought, all over again. Thought of the times when nothing could pull Shirion away from her. Times when they were still two lost children, two people _different _from the rest.

She thought how they had stood together at the edge of the windswept forest, and she had longed to feel the warmth of his hand around hers.

_Shirion, I…I…_

"Akera?"

The girl turned, to find Ralinn's amber eyes searching hers. And suddenly, that gaze was more than she could take.

Akera felt her heart tear in two. _"Leave me alone!"_ she snarled, whirling to the door. Through sunlit stairs she soared, sobbing—down, down, her eyes misting. She could feel her soul breaking into pieces, as she took step after painful step on the marble.

…_It's too late for me now. Too late to acknowledge _anything_._

By the time Akera arrived at the living room, she felt too broken to care what she did next. The curtains were gold in the afternoon light, the sofas empty—perfect. She needed solitude now, more than anything else.

Falling down upon the sofa, engulfed in the softness of the cushions, Akera began to cry.

* * *

In the midst of her tears, Akera heard the sound of the gushing tap. Turning in surprise, she found Ketara watching her from the toilet door, eyes wide. Again she noted his exceptional looks—all the girls in the guild couldn't help but do that, anyway. Then she saw the depression in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" the Mage asked. "I believe you feel confused about something. It's there in your eyes…"

"Yeah, I'm just thinking," he replied. "About my no-past."

"You…don't remember anything from your childhood? Interesting…"

"It's not interesting!" he exclaimed, agitation darkening his eyes. "Do you _know _what it's like? I—I could be an…an object. Something that someone created, and threw away."

"I always thought you had the most perfect life in the guild," she sighed. "Turns out you're just as sad as all the rest of us."

Ketara turned to gaze at the window. "I _look _happy," he murmured. "I look happy, so others don't have to feel sad for me. I _can't _let them feel sad for me."

These words struck the Mage hard. It almost made her feel…guilty. "Oh," she said softly.

"So why were you crying just now, if I may ask?"

"Something about…the ball," she mumbled, growling and turning away on the sofa. "Nothing _you _have to know." Biting her lip, she shook her head. "Don't worry. I'll enjoy myself alone. I always do, anyway."

* * *

_the boutique_

Plans were then made for the purchase of their ball attire, later that night. Telida was rather adamant about not wearing a dress, and thus they allowed her to stay behind.

After a quick breakfast the next morning, the entourage of nine left the semi-detached house for their shopping spree. After a leisurely walk down the bustling street, the group entered a well-furnished boutique at the end.

The smell of cotton engulfed them. "I'm in heaven!" exclaimed Clynine instantly, running towards the racks.

The girls generally leapt upon the clothing like hungry animals, and with great voracity, they ploughed through the assortment of clothes. But not Akera. As she watched, she grew strangely nervous. How was she supposed to do this—

"Need help?"

The Mage found herself facing Ralinn, the instant she turned. "What makes you think so?" Akera growled. _Why should I choose a dress, if I have no one to go with? You think he's—_yours_, don't you?_

"Come on, I'll help," the guild leader replied, parting the dresses. Guiltily, she followed, wishing the sadness would desert her forever.

* * *

Raydan leaned on the door of the fitting room, tapping his fingers on the wood. "Done _yet_?" he called.

"Well, if you think this is so easy, why don't you come in here and try it _yourself?" _Turino answered angrily. Ten minutes passed, and the door finally swung open. "Well? Raydan?"

Raydan looked up. He yelped and staggered back.

Turino in a suit. It looked…_wrong._

"It…looks right," the Sniper replied with a forced smile. "But do something about your hair please." He pointed at the jet-black mess that fell into his dark eyes.

"Yeah, fine—" the Fire Poison Mage asked—

Suddenly, his eyes went blank, and his stare remained fixed beyond Raydan's shoulder. Surprised, the Crossbowman turned around, to find himself looking at an almost unrecognisable young woman in a sky blue dress, her pale silver hair rippling down the back, like a waterfall…

Akera folded her arms. "It fits," they barely heard her tell Ralinn, in a flat tone. "And it's itchy."

Raydan glanced back at Turino. He was still staring dumbly on at the female Mage, as if his life depended on it.

"Oh, Goddess," the Crossbowman gasped, trying not to snort with laughter.

Turino seemed at war with himself. "I _have _to get this right," he muttered suddenly, locking himself into the fitting room again. "I have to get my hair done. Raydan, can you help me?"

"On the day itself," Raydan replied, amused. "But yeah, I'll help you. Visit my room before the ball…"

"Thanks."

The Sniper sniggered, leaning on the door again. "Oh, no problem," he answered. "I didn't know, Turino. I had no idea you felt so strongly about…"

"_SHUT UP, RAYDAN!"_

* * *

_the world__, turned over_

The next days were a flurry of anxiety and excitement. The ten members began their preparations for the ball—most of them, at least.

Times seemed to be getting better—one could look at them, and almost believe that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the world, that there wasn't a king blowing up cities and destroying tribes and clearing forests.

Ralinn was absolutely abusing this opportunity to relax. She lazed around the garden, complimenting Clynine as she trained with Lanoré, playing pranks on her brother—even indulging in a short drink every once in a while. She _was _turning twenty this year, after all. Well beyond legal age.

A recent development had occurred elsewhere. Raydan had discovered that the governor and legendary defender of El Nath enjoyed playing pranks just as much as he did. Now, they made their merry ways around the house on a daily basis, jumping out of people's closets and planting bags of fake blood under their rugs. It was all very well, too—because sometimes, their idleness got almost _boring_.

Even Zethis, Turino and Akera were starting to panic now over the ball. The latter two both knew they would be depending on luck, and thus they would have to catch eyes. But Turino, Akera, _panicking over how they looked_! No one had ever imagined this day would come.

And Ketara. He was as different from before as he could ever be. He spent entire evenings sitting outside, staring up into the sky, coming in only for dinner. He even slept there sometimes.

* * *

_ralinn: some things are just that precious_

And so, five hours to the ball, the crowd at the dining table was more silent and tense than it had ever been. The guild leader had prepared them a magnificent meal, and they were all eating more messily than usual.

She was nervous. Ralinn subconsciously took glances at Shirion as she ate; she didn't _know _what to say to break the silence. She'd only look stupid. Everyone smiled back, all equally false. Minutes slipped by across the tabletop.

And suddenly, Ralinn was alone in the kitchen, washing the dishes and contemplating the things that could happen, today. She blinked and reached for the first dish, wishing her heart would be still—

"Hey, Ralinn. Linn."

Then a smile wove itself onto her lips, as she felt fingers entwine themselves with her hair. And she went breathless.

"You looked nervous at lunch," Shirion murmured, touching her cheek gently, to her terror. She turned—and all at once, he withdrew with shock.

"Um…um, yes, I…" Ralinn's eyes shifted away. _Distract him, distract him…_

Her gaze fell upon Shirion's belt, where his sword hung loosely in its sheath. "Hey, you wear it indoors?" she commented in surprise.

"Oh—"

Curious, she reached for its hilt. And at that one moment, he did the same. The guild leader only had a second, before she felt the Crusader's hand close around hers.

Ralinn yelped, her face blazing. _I'm so sorry—_the words sprang to her tongue as she felt the warmth in his fingers and panicked. _Oh no— _Her legs weakened, her heart throbbing in her ears. _No, no, no—_

All else was still for those moments. Then, to her silent shock, Shirion pried her hand away from his sword—slowly encircling it in his own grip.

"…Ralinn," he said, stumbling over her name. His fingers fell away suddenly. "I'm—I'm sorry. You're the guild leader, and I…I can't. No, please. Not the guild leader." He closed his eyes, turning away. "I'm so sorry."

Eyes slowly widening as she absorbed his words, Ralinn tried to understand. No, he didn't mean _that, _did he…?

"Shirion—" she murmured. "No, Shirion! Don't worry about titles or positions. Don't worry about what they might think!" Her throat was dry. "I—I think something _has _to change between us. Something must, because you're no longer just a guild member to me, Shirion. You're more—I _want _you to be more—"

And suddenly, she found herself deep, deep his arms. From above her, Shirion's voice was soft, quavering. "Ralinn!" he murmured desperately, burying his face in her hair. "I've waited so long for you to say that!" The Crusader ran his fingers through her hair, and at once the world seemed to vanish.

"Me too," Ralinn answered softly, heart swept up in elation. "I…I didn't think you'd _ever _think the same—"

As the Crusader drew back and smiled at her, Ralinn opened her mouth to speak. But she couldn't find the words to use; he couldn't either. They spent three minutes laughing uneasily, trying not to meet each other's eyes.

"Well, this is awkward," Shirion commented as he gazed out into the garden.

"Yeah…awkward."

Shirion reached into the sink to retrieve a utensil to wash. Ralinn did as well—out of nervousness, her grip slipped, and the bowl fell back into the water with a vast splash, wetting their clothes.

He laughed and shoved her aside with his shoulder. She giggled and shoved him back. Smiling, the Crusader reached out to brush her face, his fingers still wet. "You're cute, you know?"

Ralinn felt a tide of affection sweep her away. She giggled again, turning in embarrassment. "In _what _way, may I ask?"

"You _are," _he insisted with a smile, bending forward as if to kiss her. But Ralinn only laughed and pushed him away—and he laughed as well, flinging dishwater at her.

* * *

_clynine: the last two hours_

"So…how's it?"

The door creaked—and at last, after his half-hour adventure within Raydan's room, Turino exited.

Clynine's jaw dropped.

"Well?" Raydan asked, appearing behind his "customer".

No mistake, Turino in a suit looked completely _wrong._But Turino in a suit, _with _his hair neatened up looked…

Absolutely _dashing._

The Cleric gave a squeal. "I don't believe it's _you_!" she gushed, reddening. "Turino! Why didn't you do this earlier?"

"Do _what?_" He touched his hair. As he did so, his dark eyes narrowed—it was the most enchanting expression in the world. What magic a simple makeover had worked.

Raydan's grin widened. "Wouldn't you say I did a good job?" he asked.

Clynine nodded vigorously. "You look _sooo _handsome!" she cooed, gazing up at the Fire Poison Mage. Turino tried to glare at the over-excited Clynine, but that glare only looked _perfect _on his face. His features were graceful, and so _fine_—and his hair and was black as midnight, his gaze reinforced with silent power.

"Go knock the girls out," Raydan said confidently, at which Turino frowned. "You look awesome!"

The Mage folded his arms. "Whatever." He looked away.

Somehow, Clynine knew that the hint of sadness in his eyes was for Akera. Though he had taken trouble to obscure it, his feelings for her were all but apparent.

_She'll never notice him. She's too caught up thinking about…Shirion._

His sorrow faded rapidly, chased away by annoyance. The Cleric smiled up at Turino and patted his arm. "Don't worry," she whispered. "Go enjoy yourself. It'll work out."

"I didn't ask for your advice."

But she could see the hope in his eyes, and she contented herself with that.

* * *

_telida: reciprocation_

As twilight flew to take afternoon's place, Telida sneaked out through the back door, round the three walls of the house. With a small whisper, she slipped into Dark Sight, turning into a shadow.

As usual, there sat the Dragon Knight, figure slumped on the vine swing, his eyes fixed on the stars above.

The thief tiptoed across the flowerbeds. He'd get a good scaring, Ketara would. He'd _pay._

Without a sound, she walked straight up to him, invisible to his vision. Oblivious, he swung absently back and forth…

_"Ketara!"_

Ketara almost fell off the swing. He stood and whirled around, gasping in shock, before his terror melted and disbelief filled his face. "Lida!" he exclaimed, panting with fear.

Telida ended her Dark Sight and sat heavily down next to him. "Why are you _still _sitting out here?" she exclaimed. "The ball is in half an hour! You aren't going to miss it, are you?"

Instead of giving the response she had been expecting, the warrior sighed. "I…I'm not sure," he replied. "I just…don't feel it in me. I don't know…"

His response irritated her, somehow. Trying to quell it, she sighed. "Don't tell me this is about your _past _again. You were always able to keep that away. Why now?"

"I don't know." Ketara sighed, turning. "I mean—what's the point, if I'm just a witch's experiment? Shouldn't I just _die_, like I was supposed to—"

She gave up. It was too much. When, _when _would he learn to stop showering all this pity upon himself? What gave him the right?

"_YOU IDIOT!" _Telida screamed, slapping him, shoving him off the bench. The Dragon Knight landed in the grass with a yelp. While his eyes brightened with tears of pain, she panted, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Stop it, alright? Stop pitying yourself! You're becoming worse and worse everyday! I don't give a damn where you came from, or whatever other—crap you want to give me about your _past. No one _cares, okay?"

She stood and strode away, tears rising to her eyes. "Males," she growled. "All the same. All so _self-centred_." Perhaps Ketara had heard her. She didn't care.

Indoors, within the sitting room, almost everyone was dressed and ready. Now they looked up to stare at her. Then their gazes shifted, as the door opened again.

"Lida, I'm sorry," Ketara's voice came from the doorway. Ignoring him, she turned and proceeded up the stairs.

The night winds were always strong, here in Ludibrium. They descended down the stairwell, as she climbed into the night. Here, the Hermit began to think—of their quest, of this worthless detour, of all the things that had just flown by.

_Stupid ball._

Resting her hand on the railing, she thought of all the tension that had woven itself in with the peace, during the guild members' preparations for the ball. She thought about all the things they had discussed, about what Ketara, that _idiot,_ had been doing all this while—

Telida froze.

_Oh, goodness._

It finally dawned on her. Something she ought to have realised earlier.

He was depressed enough as it was—and now, she was making him attend the ball alone.

Stopping on the stairs, hand resting on the railing, she blinked with shock. Why had she not realised how—_mean, _how insensitive, how immature she was being?

The thief clenched a fist, heart pounding harder. If only her actions could be reversed…

_Oh, but they can! _Her eyes widened, Ketara's words of apology sinking deep into her soul.

She still had time. She could still change things.

Heart thumping, Telida whirled around and leapt down the stairs. As she flew through the living room, everyone turned to regard her oddly. Ketara was slumped on the sofa, and he didn't see her as she passed.

Pausing in front of Ralinn, the Hermit rested a hand on her shoulder. "Go without me," she gasped. "I've got something to do."

The door flew open before her. She soared away across the night roads, faster than she had ever run before.

* * *

_ralinn: chandeliers and orchestras_

Ralinn glanced back at her friends as they walked, smiling. What a sight it was, all eight of her companions in ballroom clothes!

In front of them, the Ludibrium Station's gates were wide open in welcome, men and women streaming into the building with high spirits. Banners hung over the four doors, ornaments and ribbons adorning every wall. As they entered, the lights swelled overhead, the scents of perfume heady and intoxicating.

"Come on, guys!" she shouted, walking towards the staircase to the great hall. Already she could hear the people in merry conversation, the orchestra tuning their instruments—it was a sound like the Goddess' voice, shaking the floors and the clocks beneath.

Ralinn stepped through the arch, and at once, she was rendered her speechless in the divinity of the lights. It was brilliant, so brilliant and glorious. This was her first time in an unfamiliar world—and how wonderful it was!

* * *

"Hey, Akera," Raydan said, tapping her shoulder. She turned, struggling to hear him through the noise of the crowd. "I know, I _really _should be abusing you right now. But I just feel like being nice today. Besides, I know you lost to me on purpose." He grinned. "It still stands, though, that you are my servant for today. And I have decided that there is _one _thing I want to order of you."

At her look of scepticism, the Sniper took a meaningful glance at Turino. "You have no idea how much that guy wants to catch your eye," he said with a smile. "So please be nice to him. Just for tonight. You're sealed by the deal."

Then he grinned one more time, while she took it in. "Won't be hard. He's really a nice guy, deep _deep _down inside."

* * *

_telida: scarlet silk_

Somewhere in the night, Telida could hear the bells ringing, the violins serenading upon the brilliance of the trumpets. Her footsteps grew more rapid.

The clothes shop was almost deserted, as had all the streets been. At the counter, the storekeeper woman looked up from her notepad. "Here for a last-minute dress?" she asked, looking her up and down. Telida nodded, gaze quickly leaping across the racks.

"Anything you can recommend?"

"Something low-cut would look great on you," she suggested. The girl felt her face heat up.

"That's not funny!" Distractedly, she searched through the shelves, her apprehension towards being in a _clothes shop _growing stronger.

A bold sliver of red caught her eye in the midst of the blues and whites. Slowly, she approached the object, frowning at herself.

She had been repulsed by dresses, all her life. But now there was no time to reconsider. She had a friend whom she couldn't leave in the lurch anymore. Leaping for the scarlet piece, she snatched it out and flung herself into a fitting room.

Seconds and many trips later, Telida was done. The Hermit glanced at herself in the mirror and grimaced—_her, _in a _dress_. It was just slim enough to look graceful without making her look under-dressed, and blazed like fire. The neckline was slightly too low for her liking—but there was no time to find another.

_I'm going to remember this forever, _she thought distastefully, trying not to trip over the gown as she headed back to the counter, heart thumping with renewed nervousness. _You'd better appreciate this, Ketara._

The storekeeper glanced up at her, a smile lighting up her face. "You look absolutely _gorgeous,_" she gasped.

"Ah, _stop it!_" Telida growled in response. She paid in a hurry, almost dropping some of the money. Then, lifting the gown off her feet, she sped away through the streets like a ghost of the night.

* * *

_shirion: first dance_

Shirion bit his lip, as he glanced about. Lanoré and Raydan were currently taking advantage of the free-flow of food. Ketara, Turino and Akera were trying their luck, and Clynine was giving Zethis dance lessons.

Here he was, feeling more lost than he was comfortable with. Ralinn was with him—just as lost as he was. Together they glanced around, worried that any move they made would expose them as newcomers.

_How does this start?_ He wondered, swallowing. _Are we going to stand here forever…?_

Then they heard a sudden hush. The people were turning to the orchestra onstage, eyes bright and waiting. The conductor raised his baton; the instrumentalists followed.

In a rush of melody, the music began.

Its effect was instant. Everyone paused in their present preoccupations, raising their gazes to the orchestra. Their gazes were bright, captivated by the magic of the tunes—and as if by that magic alone, the dancing began.

Shirion felt it fill him to the brim, just as it had everyone else. But Ralinn was already inching towards the dance floor with small tentative footsteps, her gaze trapped in the lights.

"Ralinn!" he called, giving chase. Touching her shoulder, Shirion smiled as she turned, and bowed. Suddenly, magically, he knew how to begin. "May I have this dance?"

"Oh, I'd be honoured," Ralinn responded, looking so shy. He took her hand and kissed it. Then, without another second to spare beneath the great chandeliers, their first dance began.

* * *

_akera: made of shadows_

As she watched Ralinn and Shirion take up a stately dance, Akera knew she would die here. She couldn't watch, as the one she loved was dragged away, one footstep at a time. _No, please…_

Struggling not to cry, the Mage turned away. She had to walk on. She had to try again some other time. Minds could be changed—

Blinking, Akera stopped. "Oh…hey, Turino," she said his name in a whisper, noticing the dark-haired young man for the first time. Then she added in full sincerity, "You look amazing tonight." The Mage could have sworn that Turino blushed.

"You…are alone, aren't you?"

Akera nodded, walking up to him. "Well, while we're here, I might as well try to make _him _jealous, don't you think?"

Turino's eyes widened as she took his left hand, gripping his shoulder and pulling up close, so close.

"Akera!" he gasped in surprise. Akera smiled to herself, feeling a spark of defiant belief. She _would _enjoy tonight, Shirion or no Shirion. Oh, she would make him _so _envious.

Turino was shaking his head. "No, I shouldn't," he answered. "You—"

"It's a party!" Akera responded, laughing. "Enjoy yourself, Turino." She looked around at the dancers surrounding her, their sequined, glittery dresses lit a lustrous gold. "Do you know how to dance?"

He smiled sarcastically back. "Do you think I do?"

Finally, Turino had begun to soak up the joy of the night. Reaching his arm round her back, he smiled, eyes gazing deep into her heart.

Gradually, subtly, Akera felt herself sink into the depths of that elegant, burdened gaze. _Shadows, _she thought, smiling dreamily for moments. _His eyes are made of shadows. Such beautiful, sad, sad shadows._

And as Turino's eyes returned the smile, his expression was softening—still so broken, but softening. It was at this very moment that she finally felt understood. Understood and believed, for the first time in her life.

The music was soft and smooth. _And so romantic, _Akera added mentally with a sigh.

* * *

_the latecomer_

There was just _something _about the way he smiled that drew gazes, _something _about the way he spoke that entrapped their hearts so hopelessly. The girls who had come partner-less were all practically flocking round him, all begging for a dance.

Ketara was having an undoubtedly good time. Having been raised by the cultured, refined Ellinian fairies, the Dragon Knight was well versed in the art of ballroom dancing. He had probably had the most dances of the night already, and more still awaited.

Yet however he enjoyed himself, it was evident that he wasn't as happy as he should have been. Some were puzzled by the way he would glance every so often into the distance, as if hoping for something to appear there.

But none of them would guess that he was keeping a part of his heart reserved, for someone—a friend he had not yet seen the entire evening.

* * *

Elia gazed up into the deep brown eyes of this young man who now held her in his arms, and she felt a thrill chase up her spine. His eyes reminded her of melted chocolate, of walking in the woods, of everything warm and uplifting.

This had to be the best dance she had ever had, in all her years of attending balls with her family. And he was, she was unafraid to admit, absolutely the best-looking guy she had ever seen.

_I'm not too bad looking myself, am I? _She thought to herself with doubt. With her soft brown curls and vivid blue eyes, he _must _think she was at least a little pretty too, surely?

"What's…your name?" Elia finally dared to inquire, as they waltzed into the middle of the silk ocean. His eyes widened slightly, and she felt herself pull back with shyness.

"My name?"

The girl nodded, hoping she wouldn't melt at the sound of his voice. He smiled back and tilted his head thoughtfully, with an expression that made her blush with adoration.

That was when a commotion began to rise in the back of the hall. It started soft, then began to swell as people around turned to stare. Surprised, Elia looked as well, wondering who could be drawing so much attention.

Speechlessly, she watched and gaped.

It was a girl, her hair the colour of raven feathers. Her beauty was simply _indescribable _with words. She wore anger, or panic, on her features—who knew? It was _pretty_. Her dress was blazing crimson, the silk swishing about her legs as she walked on hurriedly. Her eyes were dark, her face pale, her figure the most beautiful, alluring one imaginable. And the way she glared through the crowds was the most commanding, terrifying expression Elia had ever seen before.

_Who in the world…_

Snatching her gaze away, the girl directed it back to the young man beside her. He was watching her in shock too, disbelief running deep in his expression.

It took him a minute to realise that Elia was watching him. But finally, he did.

"That's my best friend!" he exclaimed, grinning. "I never thought I'd see her wear a dress! Oh…Lida!"

His attention was gone; he was too caught up with trying to catch his friend's attention. "Lida!" he shouted again, waving excitedly. The girl named Lida suddenly whirled around, joy rising to her own eyes.

"Ketara!" she called back, racing towards him while surprised gazes followed. "Ketara! Wait for me!"

Elia glanced up at Ketara in mild surprise. _That…sounds like a girl's name._

_

* * *

_

"My goodness, Lida!" the warrior still couldn't contain his excitement, his disbelief, as Telida came to a stop before him and curtsied, rolling her eyes. "You're wearing a—a—"

"Yes, a dress," she replied, smiling wider. "For you, no less!"

"Wow, Lida, you just—rhymed—" But she didn't reply, for her expectant gaze was fixed too deep on his. "Alright, alright!" he exclaimed, taking her hands, feeling his heart swell with joy. "Thanks so much, Lida. I won't forget this. Really. Thanks."

Telida smiled back, eyebrows rising. "Well, then, Ketara," she replied, slipping into position. "Let's make this the best dance of the night."

Ketara laughed in reply. "No," he said. "Let's make this the best dance Ludibrium has ever seen."

* * *

_lanoré: a view from the sidelines_

Lanoré glanced up momentarily from her paper plate of chocolate cake. "Done yet?" she called to Raydan. He said something unintelligible, and when she turned around, she saw that there were cream stains all over his mouth. "Alright, where are the lollipops?"

He pointed with a grin at his suit, where a conspicuous new bulge had appeared. Laughing, the Archmage turned to see someone coming towards the table. "Turn around and pretend to eat," she urged quickly. He did as told, but not before reaching into the bowl of sweets and stuffing a few more into his outer garments.

While the bearded man obtained a paper plate and some food, Raydan and Lanoré observed the dancers. Their gazes crossed the mass of people, the Archmage picking out a few interesting couples in the mix.

Then she stopped, and gave a gasp. Surely not! Was that…?

"Raydan," she said, tapping his shoulder insistently, eyes still fixed on the girl in the crowd, dancing among the rest like a blazing firebird. Raydan looked, and almost instantly, his mouth fell open.

"_Goddess—_don't tell me that's who I think it is."

Lanoré nodded, smiling despite herself. "Yes, it's her," she replied—but Raydan didn't answer.

The Archmage turned to find Sniper staring at the young woman, face flushed deep red. "Oh, Goddess!" he panted, unable to pull his eyes away. "Telida is _so hot—_"

Lanoré laughed. "Keep your drool for the food," she advised, grasping his shoulders and directed him back to the food table, against his protests.

* * *

_ketara: i'll be waiting_

Was this real life? It felt like heaven, or something beyond. Ketara only felt his spirits rise higher with each step he took. And she seemed to feel the same.

"Well, this is amazing!" the warrior exclaimed. "You're wearing a dress. And you're dancing. And you're happy."

Telida shrugged. "You know this isn't going to last," she replied. "I'll start pushing you away again, like I always do. This side of me will just—vanish."

The Dragon Knight gripped her hand tighter. "And _I'll _be waiting for it to return!"

Telida looked far into the distance. "Not depressed anymore?"

With a final perfect cadence, the music came to its end, and the instrumentalists began to turn their pages. "Course not!" Ketara said. "But like your anger, it'll come back."

"And _I'll _be waiting to pull you out of it."

The warrior laughed, even more merrily—she smiled in reply. _I'm glad I met you, _he thought to himself, as the music rose again around them. _A sane friend like you is what I've always needed._

* * *

_ralinn: stargazing_

"It's a great night, don't you think?"

There was a sea of stars above, the windows flung wide to the full sky overhead. The guild leader watched the twinkling lights and sighed. "It is," she whispered. "Hm, there's the constellation Orion…"

Beside her, Shirion took a grateful breath. "Someone once told me that I was chosen by the stars," he replied, folding his arms on the windowsill. "Something concerning glowing eyes and…something like that."

"Yeah…I know, your glowy eyes are…cool…"

His gaze brightened in the chandelier back-light, his smile affectionate. "Thanks," he whispered suddenly, wrapping his left arm round her back. Ralinn slowly found herself leaning towards him—and in silent response, his other arm came to encircle her shoulders.

"Thanks too," she replied, closing her eyes and leaning her head against him, heaven descending upon her and making her sleepy. "Thanks for everything."

* * *

_turino: drowning in heartbreak_

At last, the clock at the head of the grand hall struck midnight. Simultaneously, all movement ceased; the music faded, the curtains fell.

"Thank you for this dance," Akera murmured with a smile as she came to a stop, curtsying before Turino. He bowed in response, thrill still rushing through his veins. As he looked upon her face, he found himself longing for another dance, for the touch of her fingers, for—

The Mage looked down self-consciously. "So…let's go find Ralinn, I suppose?"

Turino heard no response. Surprised, he turned again to look at Akera—first with curiosity. Then, with alarm.

Her blank gaze was locked on the windows. He felt his heart sink. It was Ralinn. Ralinn, half-asleep in Shirion's arms.

What Akera must be thinking now—watching him give his love away to someone else…

Terrified, the male Mage reached to touch her shoulder. "No," he gasped. "No, Akera, don't—"

Akera heard nothing—for one thing overrode all else. There and then, something was crumbling in her heart—a defence of some kind, a stronghold, a barrier. Turino could see it in her eyes.

"Shirion!" she cried hoarsely, burying her face in her hands. _"Shirion—" _

With a single sharp scream, she turned and soared away.

"_Akera!" _Turino gasped, shoving passers-by aside, forcing himself through the crowd after her. _Oh crap, oh crap—_it ran through his mind, over and over. He _knew _what she could do in anger. He couldn't let her do it again…

Down the stairs they spiralled—Turino never lost sight of the beautiful young woman and her flowing silver hair, as he chased her through the empty, echoing corridors of the station. Her blue gown trailed after her, her hair waving like a veil as she tripped, over and over again.

"Akera,"he called again, panting, but she didn't hear, only ran, ran, crying. Down the stairs. Down, after her.

Akera stopped at the bar, flinging the door wide. Turino stopped to catch his breath at the foot of the stairs. Outside, the night was warm, and above them, a carpet of stars was spread wide. He took no notice, watching in terror as Akera walked to the counter, placed an order, wiped more tears away.

_No._ He stood, picking up his pace. _Don't be stupid, Akera…_

The Mage burst into the bar. Racing straight towards Akera, he called her name angrily, ignoring the stares he received. She looked up to regard him vaguely. Five mugs of beer rested on the tabletop.

"Go away," she snarled, raising a mug.

"Stop it, Akera!" Turino shouted.

"_GO AWAY!" _Akera shrieked, clawing his hand away, rapidly downing the drink. Her expression was crazed, her eyes narrow and bloodshot, as the golden liquid splashed down her chin. She stopped, and gasped. "I thought you would love me. I thought we could be together, the way we were supposed to be. But _she _stole you away."

"No one's _supposed _to be with anyone," Turino replied, sitting. "Control yourself, Akera."

She ignored him. Second mug down. Akera glared motionlessly at him for a few seconds—then she gave in, and collapsed upon the tabletop, sobbing wretchedly. _"Go away, you monster," _she croaked. "I know you hate me. Everyone hates me. _Everyone!_"

It made his heart so sore, to see her this way. Turino reached out to touch her shoulder—but she flung his hand away.

"It's just _me, _after all," she snarled, picking up her next mug. "Pathetic, useless, _ugly _me." She drank.

"No, Akera, you're not useless," he whispered, bending close. "And you're beautiful."

"_LIAR!" _Suddenly whirling to face him, Akera swung the empty third mug at Turino, and he dodged away. "Liar, liar, _liar! _If I _were _beautiful, I wouldn't be the way I am now! Rejected, unneeded, _loathed_—" She screamed at the ceiling, then picked up the next mug.

"That's not true!" he exclaimed, watching as she drank deeply. "I wouldn't reject you. I mean, if it counts for anything, _I _like you—"

_I like you._

_I love you._

Gasping, the male mage pulled his hand away. _No, no…what was I thinking…?_

She stared on at the last two mugs with a glassy gaze. "Oh, trying to suck up now, are we?" she asked, smiling demonically.

He was still confused, dazed. "Let's—let's go home," he suggested, glancing away.

Akera laughed raucously, thrusting one of the last two mugs in his direction. "I paid for this!" she yelled, before raising and gulping down her own. Looking down at the mug of beer, he momentarily felt some annoyance—but concern and pity overbore everything, and he took the drink from her.

_Turino, you didn't have to get yourself into this._

Five minutes later, he was supporting a laughing, screaming Akera, as they stumbled home. Occasionally, she would unintentionally light fires in her hands, singing his clothes and occasionally burning him—but he withstood it. It was all for her, after all.

_Why? _He wondered. But he took one glance at her half closed eyes, her pale face, and he knew.

* * *

Everything was quiet as death, as Turino downed a canned drink by the dim lamplight of the living room, and Akera slept on the sofa close by. Every few seconds, he helplessly took another glance at the female Mage.

_I've softened so much. _

Hadn't life in the Dungeon already taught him to be wary of everything? His parents had been killed by monsters. His sister had almost suffered the same fate. Why did he still allow himself to lower his guard so often?

But Akera probably understood too. The need to hide from the world—

The doorknob clicked. Leaping from the couch in shock, Turino felt his drink spill down his nightshirt. Cursing, he turned around to find his sister and Ketara standing at the doorway.

"Oh, _you,"_ the Mage muttered, sitting back down, paying them no more attention.

"I didn't ask you to comment," Telida answered coldly, before heading up the stairs.

Ketara headed off to the kitchen, switching on the lights and fiddling with the cupboards. Glancing back at Akera, Turino noticed that she was drooling into the cushions. He found himself trying not to smile.

He gulped down the remains of his drink, and tossed it into the bin. Tilting his head slightly, he turned back to watch Akera, her slight figure veiled in shadows. Her chest rose and fell with steady, deep breaths, her eyes flickering beneath their lids every few seconds. What was she dreaming of?

Sighing, Turino reached for the lamp cord to turn it off. He could still hear, distantly, the sound of Ketara trying to get something off the top shelf—but it didn't bother him. Not now. Gently, he closed his eyes, leaving the world behind.

As he drifted into sleep, the indiscreet oceans of his mind whirled—and slowly, they fell into perfect rhythm with Akera's breathing.

* * *

_packing up_

Everyone came downstairs at the planned time of six o'clock the next morning to find Akera in mid-hangover. Alarmed by how much she was vomiting, they asked her if she was feeling fine, to which she answered with a very annoyed "yes", before heaving some more.

"We're going to Leafre," Ralinn announced as the first few guild members came to sit round the dining table. "So…"

"Two eggs!" Lanoré suddenly shouted as Clynine appeared at the foot of the stairs. Ketara answered from the kitchen, and soon the delicious sound of frying oil filled the air.

While they ate and discussed, Akera went back to sleep. Shirion had decided to take it upon himself to care for her. She awakened groggily, ten minutes later. The Crusader touched her shoulder and placed a glass of water in her hands. She took it and drank deeply, her eyes unable to leave his.

Akera took about half an hour more to recover—and by then, Orion's Belt had finished their preparations. Some items were uncovered during their final check of the house—a canned drink, some sewing needles, a broken pendant. Zethis soon claimed the pendant, and Raydan the drink (no one actually knew whether it was really his or not). The needles might come in handy someday, so Ralinn pocketed them.

At last, the guild was walking down the sunny streets towards the Ludibrium Station. _To Leafre! _The cry resounded in their it be as prettyas the Clocktower? Some of them certainly hoped so…

* * *

_rila: broken forests and firefly lights_

Her eyes were closed, and she was blind. Blind to the world, blind to the pain she knew so well. In her ears she heard the echoes of an old song—the same song as always.

The song of the Dragon. The song that had raised life from the rich soil of the world.

Wearily, the brexton lay down, and glanced at the egg that rested on her back.

She had waited fifteen years already, for her baby girl to be ready for the world. How she had laboured, protecting it from storm and hail! Every night from the start of the decade, she had sung it lullabies and serenades—fading fragments of the Ancient One's song.

Sighing with nostalgia, she felt the warmth of the past engulf her, and a smile came by itself.

She still remembered those nights. Nights of fifteen years ago, when she would look deep into the sky, and watch the fireflies drift around the moon. They were trying to recall the Dragon's song too. Every year, the little creatures would emerge to dance by starlight, at the pinnacle of summer, drenching the night in the warmth of yellow light.

Rila would gaze up at them—and feeling the weight of the egg on her back, she would smile, making her baby a promise.

"_When you wake up from your sleep, I will show you the fireflies' dance. It's beautiful, darling. I promise you will love it!"_

She would think, of waiting fifteen years for her baby to hatch. And then she would fall asleep, reciting the philosophies of the forest.

Life was beautiful. Life was not like the others. Within the cold fathoms of Light and Darkness and Time, there was no mercy. End was end, and when the blade was lowered, nothing more could be said or done.

But life was versatile, accommodating. With life came mercy, selflessness, guilt, love; with life came the possibility that one's suffering could be the key to another's redemption. Life listened; life offered second chances.

_Chances. Chances…_

She blinked, sweeping her gaze across the broken treetops spread beneath her mountain.

Life will give us a second chance. It will. I know…it will.

The world was empty, so empty. The hollow winds sang no more, only whispered sad secrets and stories into the ears of the dying trees.

Everything had been so divine before. Fruit had been sweet, and rivers made of crystal. How the birds had sung to the sky! How the wyverns had ventured into the Canyon, and brought back such wonderful treasures! The nights had been glorious, the days made in heaven.

Then, the two-legged creatures had arrived. With them they had brought many strange things—grey fumes, stinking black liquid, moaning blades that spun and sliced the trees as if they were soft meat.

At first, the newcomers had been no more than a novelty. But five days passed. And all of a sudden, Minar Forest was being eaten alive.

Rila's body sank lower, her belly touching the cold rocks. She tried not to recall all the things happening to the forest. She tried not to think about the trees, thundering into the earth. She tried not to remember the dead bodies scattered through their abode. But though she tried, they flashed rapidly before her eyes.

And she remembered, remembered the night the fireflies had stopped dancing.

The air had grown poisonous with fumes. The insects had been clueless, that night when they had risen to the skies, to take up their dance. Thousands had died that night—and together they had deserted the forest, growing sluggish and sad, growing afraid of the world. They had hidden themselves deep in the volcano of the Canyon, and no one had seen them since.

Rila looked away into the empty heavens, remembering all too vividly how, once, millions of lights had flooded the darkness.

Within the fractured silence, she felt a molten tear rise to her eyes.

She could feel it. The baby's heartbeat was strong, stronger than ever. Her time was coming soon.

_I will show you the fireflies' dance, _Rila thought forlornly. _I promise you'll love it._

Then she looked into the cold, lightless sky, and she cried.

* * *

_ralinn: into the canyon_

The guild's carrier across the sea was a magnificent specimen—a large bird with a plumage that matched the sky.

As land came into sight, the guild members clamoured at the sides of the bird's back-saddle, pointing at the new shores in rowdy discussion. At last, as noon began to beat down upon their heads, the bird began to drop in altitude.

"We arrive," it said, lowering still.

Squinting through the sunlight, Ralinn looked over the edge of the bird's back, searching for the trees and the rivers she had heard about so often—

She blinked. No trees. No greenery, nothing. The Ranger turned to the rest, struggling to arrange her words. "The trees—!" she exclaimed. "There aren't—"

"Yes," the bird whispered. "Our land has been ravaged by your kin, humans."

Slowly, they descended towards the surface of the world. And as their view became clearer, it only became more vivid. A vast field of rotting stumps was all that remained of the old forest, a pale ring of death around the cluster of the last, living trees.

The bird headed for a pile of ruins in the middle of the wasteland. It spread its wings to brake as they approached, dropping upon the highest point. The winged creatures sighed, lowering itself to the ground. "Welcome to Leafre."

"Leafre?"

Ralinn was gaped at the ruin in which they had landed. Even _she _didn't believe the bird. It had to be a trick. A sick, sick joke.

"Leafre? Really?" But the bird nodded, and as it did, the Ranger felt as if cold water had just been dumped upon her.

"No, no—then what about the Spear? The fragment of it? What happened to all the animals, the wyverns—"

"Gone."

The word slapped her in the face, and she stumbled backwards into the dust.

"Go to the Canyon," the bird advised, ruffling its sky blue feathers for its next flight. "Go to the Canyon if you long to see. The wyverns are graceful, the kentauri are swift. But they all despise humans. If you long your treasure enough, then go to the Canyon, but beware the creatures."

With a soft chirp, the bird was swept up by the next gale into the sky, and its iridescent blue plumage changed colours in the sun.

Ralinn spoke not a word—only turned around and called the rest, walking purposefully towards the Canyon, vast and dark in the distance.

Half an hour of walking took them there. As they approached, the guild leader observed it with awe. It was a great chasm cleaving a high plateau, dark at the edge of the forest.

"I have read many things about Leafre," the guild leader murmured. "One thing I am certain of is that the creatures will stop at _nothing _to kill us." She turned. "And I don't want all of us to die. Lanoré, Akera, Shirion, you will come with me to the Canyon. If wefail, the rest will go and find the other parts of the Spear first."

"No!" Clynine cried. "My mistress…let me go with my mistress—"

"_No, _and that is an order," Ralinn growled back. "The quest is more important than four lives. You will take on the responsibility, if something befalls us. You must stay."

"But why bring all four strongest, and possibly have them all killed off?" Turino gasped. "I don't want to see—anyone die…"

Ralinn turned to him, slightly surprised at his worry. Then she smiled. "That's why I'm leaving _you_ here," she replied, patting his shoulder. He glared up at her, wanting to protest. His gaze said everything: _Akera. _But the guild leader forced herself to turn away, heart aching.

The three stepped forward to surround Ralinn. Lanoré gave her Blade Staff a last polish; Akera closed her eyes and meditated. And Shirion touched her hand.

She knew that this journey had two equally likely endings. And it wasn't really up to them to choose. But for their sake, she knew she had to look as if it was.

"Hey, Linn," Raydan called suddenly. "If you die, I'm gonna be the one listening to Mum and Dad cry. So please don't die, okay?"

Ralinn managed to laugh, but his words stayed stuck in her heart like knives. With a last wave and a few goodbyes, they raised their weapons, and raced off into the Canyon.

* * *

_ketara: pre-emption_

From behind them, the roar of tractors swelled. Cries of jubilation broke the air, a tree trunk cracking and thundering from the canopy. For moments, Ketara found sadness filling him up—

Then, he looked, and realised that the tree was falling towards _them._

Instantly, all six gave cries, leaping to their feet, sprinting from the humongous falling shape. Stopping at the plateau face, beside the vast canyon, they panted in fear.

Ketara gasped. Metal glinted between the trees, brightening, gleaming…

A solid, jagged shape emerged from the forest shadows. Another. Three more from the periphery. Rumbling to a stop before the six, the roof of the middle tractor flew open.

"You!" A large man stood from his seat, fixing his eyes on them. He had four scars on his cheek, his sneer twisting his deformed countenance even more. "How did you get here?"

"Stop it!" Telida screamed. All six guild members leapt into defensive positions.

"You either _get lost_," he sniffed, "Or die painfully."

"You won't do _anything _to us!" Zethis, suddenly spurred by fury, raised his mace in anger. "Stop it now!"

"Oho, and what will you do if we don't?"

Turino stepped forward with a sneer of his own. "Blow you up, of course."

* * *

_akera: a fatal awakening_

It was their luck that they had entered the wyverns' territory in a quiet hour. They were napping, every one of the hundreds of reptiles of the Canyon. Now, if their luck would hold for _just _a while more…

"Half a mile left," Ralinn whispered, running ahead of the rest. Lanoré and Shirion caught up quickly; Akera's feet were already aching, and she found it harder to follow. The silent walls rushed on, the sound of irregular wyvern breaths filling the air.

"Hey, Akera," she heard Shirion's voice close by. The Crusader was beside her, holding his hand out. Nodding in thanks, she caught hold of his fingers—elation sweeping through her for moments—and found herself soaring forth.

Ralinn turned back to check on them. When she saw the pair running hand in hand, irritation swelled in her eyes.

At the sight of the Ranger's annoyed expression, Akera felt something bloom within her. Something blazing, caustic on the walls of her heart.

_No. No you don't, you green-eyed monster._

It engulfed her, suddenly, melting everything else away. Everything, except for the poison in her throat. Her heart pounded impossibly harder, the ache in her feet vanishing—

Finally, Akera spat the words out of her mouth. "Wipe that _disgusting _look off your dumb little face, Ralinn!"—

_Whirr._

Their footsteps crunched to a stop, and there was nothing.

Only the cry of a wyvern. Ten wyverns. The steady _whirr _of wing beats…

A scream sent rocks tumbling down the cliff. Shadows fell, fell like poisonous blossoms with golden eyes.

Carefully, the four backed away. "_Thanks, _Akera!" Ralinn gasped in exasperation, throwing up her arms. Akera rolled her eyes—

Claws, screeches, swinging wingtips. Ralinn gave a yelp, as a wyvern shot straight at her—and she ducked, the monster ripping the air overhead like a missile. But it had come so near—and the sight of its teeth had branded itself into her eyes, her body stiffening.

"Oh, shit. _Shit._"

Akera turned, heartbeat going crazy. Hoof beats, pounding in the earth—hollow, a-rage with power. She cried out—a stampede of kentauri advanced from the edges, snarls on their lips.

She could smell sweat. Sweat, and bile, and bad breath.

Lanoré turned as well. Their weapons glinted, brightening as they soared over the breaking lava. Lifeless shades swooped to tear at her—all around, like shredding swords.

Akera's first instinct—her staff. Flame instantly sprung from her weapon, surging outwards like a blooming flower. Wyverns screeched and swept around her like a whirlwind—and she could hear the twang of Ralinn's bowstring, the crack of Shirion's blade.

No. The wyverns weren't for her. She whirled around, gritting her teeth as she locked her gaze on the kentauri. _These are mine._

This was how to do it. Divide the battle. Divide and conquer.

Hooves rumbled through the dust. Ash flew everywhere. "Come on, try me," Akera snarled, narrowing her gaze on the foremost kentaurus. Her heart drummed in her chest as she licked her dry lips. Lanoré stepped closer, both staves pointed at the oncoming army.

_Our battle. Four against a hundred…_

* * *

_ketara: spirit of the shaft_

Turino's answer still hung in the air. _Blow you up, of course._

The woodcutter's scowl twisted further, all his amusement crushed into nothing. "Yes, I see," he muttered between gritted teeth.

No more words. The man slammed the roof back on, falling to the controls.

And the tractor blades roared to life. Light flashed in their eyes, and the thundering of wheels began, metal shooting sunlight at them.

The hulking metal bodies surged forward, bellowing. Rocks crumbled beneath them, their groans and bellows shaking trees, scattering leaves. Ketara felt stones shower his skin—stones and dust and earth, the smell of cut grass and broken trees stinging in his nose, the heat of the spinning blades pressing on them. The tractors' fronts were tipped with brilliant, gleaming, whirling blades, so close…

_No. No backing down._

Ten feet left, between them and the tractors. And the smell of whirring metal, the guttural rumble of wheels.

His battle-worn Omega Spear rose. On either side of him, the twins had their weapons ready.

Three feet.

Clynine's staff burnt like a brand. Zethis leapt to the Dragon Knight's side, dropping into his ready stance.

"I've waited long to kill again," Telida snarled, her stars blazing. "I see my chance has come!"

Fire. Light. Gold. All the weapons were drawn, and all the battlers were ready.

The earth exploded. Flames billowed outwards in an arc, as metal slid from hidden compartments, and guns rattled into the earth.

Hell began.

Weapons blazed and swung in a storm of fury. Metal was rendered no more sturdy than paper. Wheels buckled, walls were dented. Over and over the flames came again, weapons and arrows punching holes in the steel armour. The guns thundered, bullets flitting in frenzy like wasps on crack.

And all around them, the silent trees were watching.

"And so your end begins." All six turned, momentarily, and they saw the woodcutter grinning through the dented glass of his windshield.

Explosions shook the forest. Rock shattered. The battle rose again to claim them all, and the onslaught of bullets was relentless. Fire on fire. Steel on steel. Wood ripped them both, and metal succumbed to feather.

Ketara felt a bullet zip past his ear, and he dodged the onslaught, charged forward with his burning spear, landing a deep strike that shook the machine. He swung aside and ducked under the bullet stream, panting and sweating, his throat on fire. His hands were slippery with sweat, his weapon threatening to slip as he leapt from rock to root, deep into sand, searching for foothold to launch another attack.

Something fell from his belt, clanging on the rock. He whirled around in shock to find the shaft of the Spear of Heaven, lying among the broken mountain rocks, gleaming in all shades. The flame of battle rapidly drained from his spirit.

Would Ralinn require it? He ducked down, snatching the shaft up—

All at once, the Dragon Knight felt a soft song soak into his fingers. It was calling, calling to its other three quarters. There was a spirit there, yearning to find its friends.

Ketara knew at once that he had to bring it to Ralinn.

"Guys! I need to get the Spear shaft over there!" he shouted, deflecting bullets with his spear. He had to leave this battle, join another. Raydan called out in agreement; Turino growled, irritated.

"Just go," the Mage muttered, teleporting away. "And hurry!"

Ketara didn't bother to agree; he had already taken off into the entrance. The shadows threw themselves over him, and his feet bore him on.

The instant the sounds of battle had faded away, the Dragon Knight found himself surrounded by echoes of his own voice. The warrior glanced at the canyon walls—all he saw were skulls and straggly plants within the cracks, wyvern wingtips protruding from the higher crevices.

Remembering what Ralinn had said, Ketara fell silent. Holding his own little spear close, he hurried on across the rhythmic dunes of old lava beneath his feet.

* * *

_ralinn: torn_

"_Strafe!" _Ralinn screamed, sending four arrows into the wind. Beside her, she saw a blur that was Shirion, and that alone brought her belief back, over and over, despite the sweat that burnt, salty, on her lips.

She felt the cool spatter of wyvern blood on her forehead. The Ranger shifted her bow, aiming another four arrows at the soaring creatures. Behind, weapons clashed and scraped on each other, as they met fire and lightning and ice and poison.

She had only seen, momentarily, the wave of attackers from behind—but she couldn't distract herself with that now.

"_Strafe!" _Arrows sliced the air and found their marks. Blood showered and a wyvern fell, screaming. Wind tossed her hair as she strung another arrow with blistered, sweaty hands.

Ralinn fired arrow after arrow. Minutes soared, filled to the brim with roars and screeches and the spray of blood. Stones were stained; rocks were cracked again and again. It was a whirling procession of minutes, drawing on and on, a seemingly endless labour…

In her exhaustion, she only barely heard the thunder of wings, felt the pierce of claws through her back.

Her body was so numb with exhaustion she didn't feel the fatality of the situation seep in until much later. She only vaguely understood, as her bow dropped from her aching, sweating hand, and a dark claw emerged through her abdomen, followed by a spurt, a stream of blood.

Shadows shot across her vision, backwards; she finally felt the pain bloom deep in her flesh, and it drew her shrieks out of her like threads out of cloth. Behind her, they called, called her name through the mists of a coma...

"_Linn! Ralinn!"_

"_RALINN!"_

Her eyes could see nothing, and her fingers no longer felt. Yet she knew that she was on the ground, somehow. It must be the taste of dry ash on her lips. Or the thin crack of light in her gaze.

Her body cried for help, but her mind bade her ward them off so they could finish the battle. She had to tell them to fight. She had to push them away. Tell them to carry on, leave her to die—the battle was more important. More important.

But there was no strength, where her strength used to be.

_No, no, no—_

Their fear overrode the fire of battle. They lowered their defences, flocked to her in terror—as all humans would. And thiswas their downfall.

"_No—"_

Splayed claws, jaws of steel. Together they were ripped off the ground—Akera, Shirion, Lanoré—torn into the sky by wyvern claws and teeth—screaming, screaming with rage and terror and shock.

Ralinn felt herself being bound—but she didn't fight, for she could not. She saw shadows flitting across shadows, the crack of light slowly vanishing.

She felt tears on her cheeks, too cold to be real. Then, it was only another dream.

* * *

_zine, hypot, tagen_

And with roars and howls of jubilation, the four humans were bound in ropes while they danced and screamed in ecstasy.

"_Horned Tail! Horned Tail!"_ the wyverns and kentauri chanted to their primitive drumbeat of wings and hooves, raising the captives upon their backs, carrying them towards the mountain of fire.

How pleased Horned Tail would be! The great Dragon's son had thirsted for the blood of the two-legged ones, so long—the blood of those who had ravaged the forest, and ruined it beyond repair.

At last, the sacrifices were here and ready—sacrifices to the powerful Zine, the wise Hypot, the wily Tagen! Four humans, four who had proven nothing against the army of Minar Forest. What a feast!

In the ranks, the monsters congratulated each other for a battle well-fought. Bloodshed was bitter, but victory was so sweet.

"_The monsters_ _who destroyed our world shall pay the price!" _The kentauri roared, thrusting their fists and weapons into the air, as they thundered down the road of lava.

"_Pay the price! Pay the price!" _the monsters echoed together, snarling and screeching and swiping their claws at the sky. The magnetic pull of blood, trailing down the female human's skin, shook their souls to the core, whipping them into a raging frenzy.

Together they chanted and sang and bellowed, parading the sacrifices towards the volcano of Horned Tail. It would be a good day. A feast day. A day of _blood, violence, meat._

* * *

_ketara: bound by the ancient one_

Ketara froze as the wyverns above suddenly rose and began to flit from their crevices in the dark cliffs, a hundred at a time, swooping down the Canyon. He watched, and yet none of them attacked, or even _noticed _him.

What was it that called them, so powerfully, that they would ignore a mortal enemy?

One by one, they leap from their holes, drawn by a more primal pull than that of vengeance. There was a rousing call echoing from the distance—and somehow, suddenly, Ketara felt its tug deep in his blood. _Battle. Violence. Meat._

For instants, those things suddenly drew him into a vicious wave of bloodlust, so strong he almost felt himself spread his own pair of nonexistent wings and fly after them.

But his humanity rooted him to the ground. Blinking, the Dragon Knight watched as the last wyverns soared away at the call. Then, in the dark, he sensed coldness at the back of his neck. He turned—

And leapt away, yelping. It was a wyvern, its scales blue and dusty, glaring at him with empty, deep eyes.

"I-I—"

_You, human! _It advanced with a roar._ Why does a human carry the power of the Ancient One so—strongly?_

"The—Ancient One—"

Gasping with realisation, the Dragon Knight glanced back into the wyvern's sunken eyes. "Oh—oh, you can understand me!" he exclaimed, recalling the dragon messengers of the Dungeon. Ketara advanced towards the winged creature, his footsteps faltering slightly. But it only beat its wings gently upon the ground, leaning closer.

He had a request to make, he suddenly realised…

Breathing deeply, he bowed his head. "Will you take me to Horned Tail's cave?" the warrior asked, reaching to touch the creature's forehead. "I want to meet Horned Tail—"

It blinked and raised its wings. And while Ketara watched, the blue wyvern lowered itself to the cold ground, calling for him to mount. His face brightened, heart pounding. "Are you sure!" the warrior exclaimed, grinning. He wasted no time, leaping onto the creature's scaly back. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Mister Wyvern!"

The final leg of his journey was nigh. Touching the shaft of the Spear strapped onto his back beside his own weapon, the Dragon Knight felt the spirit within it sing, even more yearningly. _Take me home. Take me to Life. Life, life…_

And he called out in jubilation, ready to fly away—fly into a volcano, and send the shaft back home.

Wings spread out on either side of him with a vast, moving _whirr_, filling his heart to the brim with life. Together they leapt into the sky, ready to enter the vortex of flames—man and beast together, for the first time in fifteen years.

* * *

_telida: fifty_

"Surrender!" Telida screamed. Bullets snipped past, and deftly she fell to the earth. From above her, she heard the scouring _vrrsshhh _of Clynine's arrows, as they burnt their paths straight into the vehicles' guns.

"_Naol never surrenders!" _the woodcutter roared through the glass. Metal pellets rattled into earth and rock. _Crack, crack, crack—_they met with swinging staves and crossbows and claws, metal resounding on metal, engulfing their worlds in their dissonant screams and the acrid smell of dry gunpowder.

"Die! _Die!" _Turino roared, throwing straight pillars of fire into the tractors' armour. Burns had appeared everywhere. Holes lined every inch of the machines' hide. But they roared and the blades spun, bullets as pestilent as hail.

_Crazy, cracked people! _Telida's brain screamed as she dodged, leaping between the bullets. Again and again she hid within her Dark Sight; still she had to flee, for the bullets were everywhere. Sparks boomed at gun barrels, holes into death, flinging more shots at their enemies.

They ceased, for seconds. Panting, Telida stopped and glanced up—Naol was punching into his phone, yelling red-faced into its receiver. "Call all men to sector B12! Yes, I said _all men! All men!" _He slammed it into the floor, and sprang to his controls. Instantly, the Hermit's hand shot for her stars, the black metal discs glinting in her hands—now red, now gold, now black again.

"_Avenger! AVENGER!" _The stars swooped like blackbirds, burning a trail of three colours—thudding deep into his scratched, dented windshield, cracking it at last. Naol gave a furious, desperate roar—revved his engine, spinning it round to charge at her—

Alarmed, she quickly somersaulted over the bullets, and landed on the tractor hood.

Her eyes widened. A vast army of tractors was advancing through the trees, their metal bodies gleaming in the sun.

Headed for sector B12, as commanded.

"Crap!" Telida gasped, leaping off the monster vehicle and landing on its other side. "More coming!" she screamed to the rest. "Fifty, at least! Fifty more tractors!"

All four whirled to glance at her, mouths wide and panting. "No _way," _Zethis gasped, before a bullet thudded against his dented armour, and he pulled himself behind a tree.

_No. _Telida cursed under her breath, grasping her throwing stars tighter. _No, we're going to die._

* * *

_ralinn: falling asleep_

From within the bundle of ropes, Ralinn watched with glazed eyes as they carried their four captives towards their master. All around her, it was blue. Blue flames leapt between the rocks of the ceiling, flickering, their light glinting off the rocks. She only caught glimpses of their captors, as her breaths grew shallow, her gaze still misted and fading.

Ever so often, she felt another slash of pain in her side, but she was unable to cringe or scream—her strength had deserted her, her breath too weak.

"Ralinn," she heard a whisper, but could not turn. "Ralinn, are you alright?"

"Shirion..." she gasped, and then closed her eyes. Her instinct for survival kept her lucid, her heart pounding for escape. But the stench of blood soaked into her brain, directing her thoughts only to her most fundamental need. "Water. I'm thirsty."

The only answer was the vibrating growl of monsters around her. The pale cave walls were silent, unrelenting, as the ceiling rose higher to melt into a cavern like a cathedral.

Now the crackle of flame had become the roar of magma. Rivers of molten blue flowed like glowing threads everywhere, on towards the place where their path led. The walls swooped sharply now, tapering at a wide hole in the roof. A volcano. They were in a volcano.

The dying Ranger could hear the echoes of footsteps far below. They weren't on the ground level, she suddenly realised. They were on a ledge, in the middle of the volcano's central chamber.

As Ralinn observed, thunder shook the walls—and she winced in pain. Then she realised that the thunder was a voice.

"_What do you bring? Sacrifices?"_

It was Horned Tail—and her heart leapt with fright. Horned Tail, the son of the Dragon. Horned Tail of the Dragon Canyon. How majestic they sounded! Nothing could quell the awe coursing through her blood.

The chief wyvern screeched something in reply—something that none of them understood. But Horned Tail did, and the three heads roared in fury…in furious delight.

"_Excellent! Excellent, my brothers! We shall season our meat with their blood tonight! I am pleased. Now let the ritual begin!"_

Then the ropes were cut, and she fell. The smell of blood rushed into her senses like a slap. Close by, Akera began to scream as her mouth was unbound, the rest of her body still trapped. _"Leave us! Leave us alone!" _she shrieked, struggling against the ropes, her hands encased in ice.

The guild leader felt powerful claws lift her up. They were carried down the ramps, towards the vast lava pool at the bottom. Wyverns, kentauri, rextons, skelegons—the creatures of Leafre stood in concentric circles round the burning lake, chanting their prayers, ready to taste the blood of their enemy.

Ralinn's heart hurt, when she realised that this was where she ended.

The smell of sheer nature and life filled her nose—overbearing, mocking—pagan and _raw_. But why did that matter now?

She wanted to fight away from the ropes of death, and start their journey again. She wanted to hit a reset button somewhere—get the chance to do everything _right_. But even now, the guild leader could feel her life seeping away through her wounds. There was no way out of these ropes. Out of this fate.

Drenched in despair, Ralinn's eyes closed once again, and she cried a tear—no more.

_I love you, Mother and Father. I love you too, Raydan—you idiot. And I love you, Shirion. Though it only just began. I wish it had been more._

And she was certain she could feel herself falling into hell, though she was only falling asleep.

* * *

_ketara: hanging in the balance _

"Wait for me!" Ketara cried into the blue evening sky, as they cruised over the thin forest atop the plateau, and the first hints of night washed overhead.

The wyvern had already updated the warrior on the situation. Ralinn and the rest were about to perish. Realising what this implied, the Dragon Knight clenched his fist around the Spear's shaft.

_Take me home to life! _The metal screamed now. _She is so near…so near, so near!_

"Yes, I will," Ketara answered, narrowing his eyes on the volcano mouth far ahead. "I will."

* * *

_turino: the single window_

Even as the sun began to descend beneath the world, the shadows grew deadlier, thudding and rattling everywhere.

"We can't do this," Raydan gasped, eyes half-closed, breaths coming in disconnected pants. He fell down upon the grass in exhaustion, clutching at the bullet wound in his shoulder. _"Can't—do—this—"_

Clynine cried, lying in the sand at the roots of the trees. Zethis gave a yell of fear, leaping away from the buzzing saws, racing to her side to call her back before she died…_no, she can't die…_

No one noticed, though, that Turino had vanished.

High in the shadows above, the Mage was calculating his flight, his final move.

It was the deadliest risk he would ever take. He could well die, if his deductions were wrong. But if he succeeded, he would gain the honour he had never had. A warm, _golden _honour that was different, _so_ different from the terrified reverence he always received.

Akera's face entered his mind, her imaginary presence his consciousness. With a pang of pain, he closed his eyes.

This had to work on first try. He had to do everything the way he played it out in his mind. No slips. No hesitations.

Around him, ripples of light burst between the trees, smoke blooming with explosions of gunpowder. The earth cracked with the onslaught, his comrades screaming for help.

_Just a little longer, please._

Within the last dregs of daylight, he crouched upon the lowest branches of the ravaged trees, waiting for the window to open.

* * *

_with life_

Ketara scrabbled over the rock, to the edge of the volcano mouth, craning his neck over the rim. Within the burning cavern, the view was amazing—his guild mates were at the centre of a vast gathering of creatures, the monsters circling in a hypnotic, primitive dance that echoed through the cave—and though he longed to call out to them, he knew he could not.

_I'm sorry, _he thought, devastated, as he watched the happenings below. _I wish I could do something._

In his palms, the shaft was shaking, vibrating—almost as if it knew its other part was close. It threatened to leap from his hands, so excited it was. But he hung on tightly to it, lest it betray his presence to the gathering beneath.

_Life! _It screamed into his fingers. _Life, life… Wait for me!_

Ketara heard its desperation and frustration, and his heart broke with pain. _I'm so sorry, _he thought again, swallowing his tears back, gazing down into the horror fantasy of magma beneath. _I wish…I could do something._

So helpless, so helpless. It was the most terrible feeling in the world.

* * *

_comes sacrifice_

Horned Tail's first head gave a call for silence, and all grew quiet.

"_You," _the middle head began, turning to the four captives. _"Humans. Two-legged creatures. Monsters."_

Silence was overthrown by fury, all of a sudden. The creatures in the cave broke into a chorus of hisses and snarls, a vast sound that made even the fiercest human wince. The first head Zine called for silence, and they fell into quietude once again.

The sky spoke, like angels. The magma whispered, like demons.

"_You have taken what is not yours. Turned our home into a wasteland!" _Hypot turned away. _"But the Dragon knew, when He created you, that this would happen one day."_

More unrest. The magma bubbled, and the humans struggled in their bonds.

"_But it is only right. It is only right, for this is what life is! You monstrosities are what came from our beautiful creed!" _the third head screamed, tears of blazing light falling from all six eyes. _"Because this is the law of life: life brings new things. Life brings change. Life brings things you never wanted—"_

All three howled, and it sounded as if the entire forest was crying. Tears trickled in six glowing streams, down the glistening age-old scales of Leafre's king. _"The head of the Spear has been given to our keeping," _Tagen snarled. _"Kept here, deep within us. Because our father believed in the value of sacrifice. If you want the spearhead, we must _die_!"_

All was suddenly still within the cave; the magma had dwindled to a thin trickle, and the cavern darkened gently…gently. Only silence and shadow remained.

In this small moment, everyone looked up, to see the fireflies resting forlornly upon the volcano walls. There were a million tiny points of light, a field of stars upon the ceiling. Fireflies, who had been chased from the world by the humans.

"_It…it was the same with our father," _Tagen sighed tearfully._ "He gave up His teeth and ribs to destroy the Spirit of the Dark. He suffered for the sake of His world."_

"Sacrifice! _What a rule!" _Zine's voice soared to the top of the dome, panting, panting._ "With life comes—the possibility, that one's suffering could be the key to another's redemption."_

Then they withdrew their heads, breathing deep, eyes flashing blood, tears glowing deep red. _"Do you _know _where the spearhead is?" _came a ragged call, a single voice from three mouths. _"Do you know where it lies, within us? _Here!_"_

Their claws rose to touch their body, touch the point in their chest where their shared heart beat. Everyone was silent; the humans' eyes glowed with terror.

"_Here! Here, where it will never be lost again! Now, let us not humour you! Let the ritual—"_

_Thunk._

Heads rose in sudden shock. Everyone turned and stared at the source of the sound. A long, thin bar of metal had appeared from the ceiling, a mere sliver in the shadows. It had plummeted through the rippling air—swerving in mid-fall, as if drawn by a magnet, to strike the point where Horned Tail's claw had lain upon their chest.

The queer object vibrated on the monster's scales, one point stuck against the great body.

In one united motion, the entire congregation looked up towards the volcano mouth. Gasps were issued. Shock swept across the crowd.

Another human—his eyes bright, as he stared deep into the volcano.

Unease instantly spread through the gathering. Snarls rapidly began to swell in their throats, their fury slowly mounting. They raised their hackles, bared their teeth, rage sprouting like vicious thorns—

Then all was silent, stilled in motion. A new emotion swept over everyone—and all around, no one dared to stir. Disbelief, more potent than fury.

For the aura of the Dragon was suddenly so strong, so strong within the cave.

* * *

_the deepest wounds in the world_

The shaft finally slipped. He still remembered yelling after it, grappling at the fleeing object—but like a pin drawn by a magnet, it was drawn inexorably away by a force deep within the cave.

And now he had gone and blown his cover. They were staring at him, every one of the thousands far below—inhuman eyes burning holes into his armour. Horned Tail's heads were staring as well.

The Dragon Knight gasped, sheer nervousness making him shiver. "I'm—sorry," he said.

But Horned Tail was not angry. Its eyes were flooded with disbelief, terror—_hope_.

_"No—" _it murmured, a rumbling whisper. All at once, the monsters below began to grow terrified. _"No," _Horned Tail's middle head repeated, red horns gleaming brightly as it drew closer, closer._ "Can it be? Is it _you…_?"_

There was no dreg of doubt in their eyes, as tears began to swell. Wyverns were slowly raising their heads in shock, claws withdrawing, murmurs echoing through the crowd of monsters. Kentauri were pawing the ground. Hafs twittered and whirled.

Suddenly, the heads roared, snarling and thrashing as if in pain. Their red wings flung wind through the cavern, cries shaking the entire volcano—

With a terrible groan of rock_, _Ketara suddenly felt the stone give way under him, falling away into the wavering shadows of the cave beneath—

The Dragon Knight yelled, lost foothold, his grip slipping from the rocks he snatched for, snatched for—descending so gradually with the plummeting stones, nothing beneath him…

_NO!_

Desperate wyvern screeches tore his ears—and from the stone he saw a flash of blue scales. Something slapped his front, midair.

Then, Ketara found himself drifting higher and higher upon wyvern wings. _Blue wyvern! _The thought briefly swept through his mind.

"Thanks," he gasped to his saviour, his heart still thundering as he gripped the wyvern's flanks. Below, monsters bellowed in outrage, waving claws at the creature he rode. But it was unfazed, and it swooped to land at Horned Tail's feet.

Panting, the warrior turned. He was near his friends, he suddenly realised. Glancing back at them, he saw how pale Ralinn's face was, how laboured her breaths. But the rest were staring at him, pure shock in their eyes.

"Ketara!" Lanoré gasped, breaking into a smile. "Ketara, thank goodness!" He smiled back momentarily—but lost his cheer when the wyvern's voice rose to claim his attention.

_Master. Do not harm him. He—_

"_I know."_

Ketara gasped, fearful. _I don't…understand._

But Horned Tail never turned back on their words. _"Come here, human," _it whispered, facing him, voice laden with sorrow. Surprised, the warrior leapt off the wyvern's back, advanced to their feet, and bowed low.

But Horned Tail's response said everything.

"_Do not…bow to me."_

Behind him, he heard a thousand cries of shock. _No! _they cried in their own languages. _It is a _human! _The enemy! He cannot truly hold the Dragon's power. It must be a hoax—_

"SILENCE!_"_ Their voice of thunder rattled the stones, and all at once, the entire gathering was silenced. _"Ketara. Ketara, I read your name in your eyes."_

Ketara blinked back, confusion filling his gaze—then honour—then confusion again. Above him, he heard a great sigh. Horned Tail's two side-heads slowly closed their eyes—and all of a sudden, glowing tears were streaming down their faces.

"_Ketara, I have waited…so long. I know it is you. The Dragon's power is…so strong in you."_

Everything was still, and gone. Suddenly, there was no one, no one but he and Horned Tail. Everything else drew back into the shadows, and here he stood, alone, facing the greatest monster in the world.

The fireflies flitted gently, distantly. The monster's tail came to touch his shoulder—beckoning him to step closer. He did.

"_I never once believed that I would call the humans "life"," _the middle head whispered as Ketara entered its embrace._ "They are unworthy. They have ripped our land to shreds." _The great glowing eyes blinked. _"But you are…different, Ketara. _You _are true life, where the rest of humanity is lifeless and cruel. You have no idea how proud the Dragon is of you…"_

At those words, Ketara suddenly felt something deep within him protest. It began as a soft, nagging doubt, a shadow of disbelief—but slowly it swelled into disagreement.

He saw an explosion of redness. A woman with blue hair. A dark creature.

"No—he can'tbe proud of me," the Dragon Knight answered suddenly, turning back to his friends. "I'm nothing to be proud of. I'm a witch's creation. A _mortal's _attempt at creating life—"

The demons were screaming: _Nothing! You're not worth _anything_ you've ever been blessed with!_

And they broke him, broke his soul in two. "I'm impure!I am not a child of the Dragon. Just a useless _project—_"

Ketara's breath grew uneven, torn—though he struggled to force everything out and continue standing. He stumbled forth, one step, another—each one more laboured than the last. Suddenly, he believed what he had always, _always_ denied.

"_The Dragon shouldn't be proud of me!" _the warrior roared, hiding his face. "He should be ashamed of me. _Ashamed _of me—"

Collapsing against Horned Tail's cold, scaly body, the Dragon Knight began to cry. He knew it would be the same forever: circles of alienation that would only wind tighter and tighter. He was nothing like all the people he knew so well. He was only a witch's doll, a failed project, a false creature with a false soul.

He was only a _thing, _a thing that had been disowned.

_I have no free will of my own. Only opinions and truths sewn into my heart by a witch—only the products of a pagan ritual, a cruel experiment—worth nothing more than rubbish! Useless _rubbish!

Ketara sobbed, shivered against the hard hide of the great monster. He never wanted to see another second, for it was too much—a truth ripping him apart from inside.

Then he felt the touch of coldness on his head, and he fell silent, still sobbing. Horned Tail breathed softly into his hair—and its voice was gentle, surreal, painfully godly.

"_Do you understand yet?" _they whispered, all together. The young man blinked and shook his head, burying his face in Horned Tail's scales. They smelt of earth, rust, moss—of all things ancient and beautiful. His breath left him, as he was engulfed in a fantasy of tears.

"_Do you not understand?" _Horned Tail asked again, drawing even closer, their heart entwining with his._ "With life comes sacrifice. And you have sacrificed so much, Ketara! Your sadness, your rage, your pain—your freedom of expression, just so you don't burden anyone else! All your life, you have suffered _alone!_"_

Its heavenly voice shook, eyes bright with tears and with questions._ "_How _do you live with all this pain inside you?" _it gasped, their souls brushing his heart with gentle fingers._ "_How _do you live? Tell me, child! Tell me how you came to be so strong!"_

Horned Tail breathed deep, crying tears of its own. The shining drops soaking into his hair, filling the warrior's soul with heartbreak. Tears of a god. Tears of a god moved by the heart of a mortal.

"I don't know, Horned Tail," Ketara replied. "But I was abandoned—and it hurts so much, Horned Tail—do you not know? It hurts, so much…"

And together they cried, for they both knew how it felt, to be forsaken by their creators. Their two hearts were one and the same now, beating to the rhythm of a pain no one else would ever know. The fireflies waved their wings in the silence, watching as two lost children found solace in each other.

"_Ketara, it matters not where your life came from! It matters not, if a human constructed you, or if you were born of the Dragon's power. You are life, Ketara—and He is so proud of you! So proud…"_

Horned Tail broke onto tears again. Ketara closed his eyes, leaning against the monster's vast body, dreams of the living forest sweeping through his heart like light lace.

"_Ah, how the times have changed," _it whispered, eyes closed. _"I still remember when the forest was green, and my people were happy. They ate and drank to their hearts' pleasure, and were proud to be part of Leafre. But such evil has come, ah. Tell me, Ketara—what has become of Life?"_

The warrior blinked and drew back. "It shouldn't have happened this way," he answered. "We were a part of Life too. But we turned on you. We thought ourselves entitled to it, raised ourselves above. And now…now it is all gone. You have lost everything to the humans. I'm sorry."

The middle head only smiled, tail brushing his cheek in affection. _"But life listens, does it not? Life offers second chances." _Its gaze rose to the volcano mouth._ "Life will give us another chance too, won't it?"_

Ketara swallowed. "The Spear of Heaven cansave us," he said softly, glancing at his friends. "We need the spearhead. Will you allow me…?"

Horned Tail pulled back slightly, submission slowly filling its eyes. _"I believe…my time has come to release it," _it sighed._ "Cut my heart open and take it. If you believe it will save our world, then you must be brave and do it."_

The Dragon Knight swallowed, closing his eyes. Horned Tail murmured in gentle reassurance, smiling again. _"You can do it, my brother." _

Bowing his head, Ketara reached for his weapon, praying. He leapt up the rocks, till he stood at the level where the Spear shaft protruded from the monster's scales. "I'm sorry, Horned Tail," he whispered, readying his Omega Spear, pulling the shaft away from its skin.

Then, breathing deeply, Ketara swung and drew the first blood.

* * *

It was here. Open, open. And he leapt.

Leapt through the bullets, beneath the tepid belly of the monster.

Here he was—the smell of earth and gunpowder filled his nose, the shadows swallowing him whole. He was blind, and yet he had to see. _Concentrate. _Snatching at a weak point in the machinery, he tore a metal plate away, leaving the pipes and vessels exposed, vulnerable. _Perfect. _

Biting his lip, Turino lit a flame and tossed it in.

_That's it. Get out. Out. Out._

And again he flew. He flew through night in the next second…heart failing over and over…

_Just get as far as you can! Far as you can! NOW—_

He threw himself into the shadows, forgetting caution, forgetting everything, tossing it all away—praying, praying that this was far enough—

_Fire, blood claws._

It overwhelmed him like a blooming monster—thunder shaking his bones, heat tearing his skin repeatedly away, over and over, as he fell into the stomach of hell.

A scream ripped itself from his throat. A scream for life, for tears, for just another second.

* * *

Roar after roar tore the volcano. The creatures were bowed to the ground, crying with terror.

"_Horned Tail!" _they screeched._ "Horned Tail, why?"_

But Horned Tail never answered. The three heads flinched, screamed—took the pain, one stroke at a time. The human's weapon swung again and again, ripping scales, skin, muscle—and with each, he cried from hurt.

"_Be strong!" _Horned Tail shrieked. _"Ketara, be strong!"_

Slowly, slowly, he unearthed the forest king's heart. There it lay, beating among their vessels and muscles—a large pulsing red organ, huge and powerful enough to support the entire monstrous creature. It was beautiful—and he was so afraid.

Ketara bit his lip—his face and clothes were covered in blood, his weapon painted crimson. "_Be strong," _Horned Tail whispered once more, weakly, moaning.

_This is the end, _they thought together. _This is where we leave everything behind._

But was death such a terrible thing? Throughout their long, long lives, all three had seen a thousand come and go. Yet the departed never really vanished—they lived on through their children, their children's children. Through an inheritance, a birthright, a legacy.

It was the same for them, wasn't it? Horned Tail had no offspring to speak of. But the world was their brotherhood—their life, their soul, their essence. They lived on, though they were dead. They needed no offspring, for life itself was their legacy.

They were immortal, forever.

"_This—this is the sacrifice we were born to make," _they whispered._ "Take it, Ketara. Take your redemption—our redemption. Save the world for us."_

The warrior bit his lip harder, his hand shaking, quivering—tightening.

_Go on and do it, _urged Hypot.

_This is our answer, _mused Tagen.

_I will stay strong, _gasped Zine.

His last stroke was loosed. The heart stopped beating.

A thousand fireworks exploded through the cave, and the spearhead was finally free.

* * *

_an ephemeral heaven_

Ketara cried out in shock as he snatched the spearhead from Horned Tail's wet, red flesh. Light was swelling from its wound, light in every colour, expanding, blooming violently across the cave like an amazing dandelion. It engulfed him, drowning his vision and his ears—and suddenly, he was lost, lost deep in a world that didn't exist.

Around him, he suddenly heard a voice that seemed to come from the distance, and slowly soared closer. Blinking, Ketara ran forth towards it, dizzy and disoriented—towards the heart of the light, the heart of heaven…

And he saw a face, deep within the fire of rainbows. A face with blazing eyes, with a mischievous smile—the face of a creature he knew he would never, ever learn to describe.

"Dragon—!"

Ketara felt his breath leave.

The Dragon smiled, and bells seemed to echo through the warrior's spirit. Ketara was terrified—but the Dragon reached a claw out to brush his cheek, and he went completely still.

"_You've done more than I_ _thought you ever would," _the deity whispered—but even His whispers sounded like hurricanes. _"I love you. I love all of my world. And I believe the time is finally here for healing."_

_Dragon, oh, Dragon. I am honoured._

While Ketara stared on, at a loss of words, the Dragon spiralled away into the sky of vibrant flame. Three voices followed in excitement—three children's voices, laughing and weeping for all the joy of the world.

"_Freedom!" _they cried, chasing their father. _"Freedom, at last!"_

Though Ketara never got to see their faces, he knew who they were—and he smiled, a tear rising to his eye.

* * *

Ripples of rainbow exploded through the volcano's peak, tearing the cavern ceiling wide open, blossoming into the dusk. In the remains of the forest on the plateau, the last inhabitants leapt from the canopies and shrubs to be engulfed by the colours, awe filling their eyes.

Tree wounds were healed, metal tossed free from their bark. Dying animals were brought back to life. Sorrow was conquered by the blade of life.

And the proclamation was made. The volcano was open; the woodcutters were gone. At last, the age of death was over.

* * *

Ketara gasped deeply as the light receded, gazing upwards. The rest followed suit, breaths swept away by the view.

The volcano was a volcano no more. The roof had crumbled, and the full night sky gazed through, stars pouring light through the vast hole—filling the eyes of the wyverns, the kentauri, the skelegons, the rextons, the hafs, the birks—the humans.

The smoke was gone. Finally, the world could begin again upon the fertile new soil—the stories were written into the cool gale that washed through the broken mountain.

From that moment into the future, birds would soar and scatter seeds over the land. The wyverns would bring water from the river, and the brextons would tend to the young saplings as they grew.

One day, they would return to the brilliant emerald canopies, and fill its eaves with sky and love. One day, they would rebuild their city from scratch, and the forest would kiss the clouds in a transient, everlasting heaven.

One day, just a golden second closer. The forest was still a barren ruin. There was much work to be done.

_Come, people! _The chief wyvern called, soaring through the broken volcano mouth, oblivious to the years of work to come. _There is a new world ready, waiting for us! Life has given us another chance. Let us not make our mistakes again!_

The monsters cried out in response, raising fists and claws and voices. The rhythm of life swelled around them, tugging at their souls—an instinct deeper than violence, deeper than fury, deeper than blood.

_To our new world! _They roared in reply. Together they departed, in a majestic procession that could be heard from heaven.

* * *

Alone at the edge of a cliff, a lone brexton's heart thumped. She had waited fifteen years, fifteen years of time and tide and pain—and at last, at last, the fruit had arrived!

Rila had already chosen a name for the child—Starlight, after the starlight she had once loved so deeply. Again the brexton closed her eyes while the sound of cracking shell played in her ears, praying fervently to the Dragon—that the child would be healthy, and that she would grow up happy…

In mid-prayer, a breeze began to play with her scales, her toes, her snout, like a mischievous child brimming with laughter. For some reason, this breeze was different. It felt _magical. _

Distracted from her prayer, Rila opened her eyes a crack—and gasped.

The stars were dancing about her, suspended in the air, so near she felt as if she could actually _touch _them—

Her heart stopped, and her eyes filled up.

_Fireflies. They're fireflies. They—_

_No, it can't be! The fireflies are dancing again!_

Suddenly, Rila heard a sound between a sigh and a sob—and she glanced down. Just in time to see her baby emerge from the fragments of her shell, and take her very first breath.

"_Starlight," _she gasped. The new-hatched brexton blinked its wide eyes, taking in the sights of its new world.

Rila she pulled her baby close, suddenly sobbing—suddenly weeping. _"Watch them, Starlight!" _she exclaimed, pointing at the fireflies in tears. _"They're beautiful, aren't they? I told you they were beautiful! Don't you love them?"_

The baby sighed and sank deep into Rila's embrace. The old brexton smiled and muzzled her forehead, calling softly to the fireflies in the sky. They swirled to gather round her, spiralling round her child with murmurs of surprise and adoration.

_You've waited so long, so long, Rila. We have waited too. We always knew you'd be here; always, always. She's a sweet thing now, isn't she?_

Gathering around the new mother, the fireflies tried to remember the melody of the Dragon's song. And together in the embrace of the shattered moonbeams, they sang Starlight to sleep.

* * *

Atop a pile of rubbish that had once been a tractor, Raydan popped a can beneath the stars and drank. Around them lay the remains of the other forty-something machines—all blown up in the last moments of the day.

The rest sat upon the same destroyed truck—Telida, scraping the dust from her stars, Zethis having a small meal of salad—and Clynine, desperately trying to use every healing spell in her book on Turino.

The Mage lay upon the metal, scarred all over by the rain of shrapnel. His robes were torn, his upper body exposed to the cold. But he didn't shiver.

_Is he…? _Sweat ran down the Cleric's face, as she shot another _Heal _at him…

"Oh, Clock Spirit, _ouch_!"

Clynine gasped in relief as Turino awakened with a jerk, his wounds finally starting to close. "Did it work? Did they—"

"You crazy man!" Raydan responded loudly. "You _almost _got killed by shrapnel, almost got torn to death—but you saved the forest! Yes, you did! Oh, and put on some clothes, please! Why didn't the explosion burn you, though?"

"I'm a Fire Poison Mage," the Fire Poison Mage said, managing a wry smile. "Now wouldn't you love to have a gift like that?"

While Raydan snorted, Clynine forced Turino down again and clicked her tongue. "Rest, silly!" she exclaimed. "The magic isn't going to get rid of those scars if you don't. And you really don't want _Akera _to see you this way—"

"_WHAT?! Hey! _Raydan, who let you—"

The Sniper pretended to be too caught up drinking his soda. Everyone else laughed, even Zethis. And as the warm day faded into the distance, the light of the stars shone down upon them.

None of them noticed, though, that the stars were actually fireflies, and that they were waltzing through the air in celebration.

* * *

_ralinn: a riddle's answer_

Ralinn shook her ropes off, standing with much effort. Till now she was still dumbfounded, at _everything _that had just happened.

Moments after Ketara had pulled the spearhead from Horned Tail's heart, an explosion of rainbows had flooded the cave—and she hadn't seen a thing during those few minutes.

And suddenly—here she was. Completely alive, completely healed. During those minutes, a miracle had happened.

The Ranger walked over to join the other three, flexing her once-torn fingers with new gratitude. Akera, Lanoré and Shirion already stood around Ketara, gazing through the volcano's broken roof at the sky of silk, conversing with each other.

"Look!" Ketara called as she approached, pointing at the lights, breaths deep in exhilaration. "The fireflies are dancing! Don't you think it's wonderful?"

That was when Ralinn realised something.

A smile gradually came to her face, little by little—a smile that grew into a grin—and suddenly into laughter.

"_Oh!_ I get it now!" she cried, slapping her forehead, laughing at her silliness.

"What is it?" Shirion asked, coming to her side. She took his hand with a smile and leaned against his shoulder, but said nothing more.

Up above their heads, in the sky over the broken volcano, a million fireflies whirled between each other—celebrating the end of an era of pain, the start of the next story. In exuberant hope they spiralled through the velvet night, prancing about within the fantastical beat of life—

Almost as if they were caught in their own lively waltz of glory, their ball gowns of light twirling across the floor of the sky.

_It all ends with the dance, my dear. It all ends with the dance._

_

* * *

_

I'm making theme songs for my characters! You can obtain them on my website, accessible through my profile.

Currently I'm rewriting chapters 1-4 (same content, better language). And Song of the Sea. Will probably notify you people when I'm done, if you want.


	9. Year of the Rabbit: Shadows Cast Forward

I'm not exactly pleased with this chapter, because so little happens in it. But that's not a problem I can proofread away, so I'm posting it.

In response to my anonymous reviewers:

1. **The Most Pro Mapler on Earth.** The main reason I don't have pirates/Cygnus in this story is basically that **I planned this story two years ago. **Yes, back when there were no Cygnus Knights, and when pirates were merely a suspicion in the back of my mind. Same for why the Dark Lord's name is wrong. Well, at least I got the number of letters AND the first letter right!

2. **LOLcatz.** I'm completely honoured :D

3. **Ditto000. **Question answered?

4. **Roo. **Your email address didn't show up in the review because FF filters it. Write the "at" sign as (at) and the . as (dot).

Okay, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 9: Year of the Rabbit/ Shadows Cast Forward

_caleix and ceramina_

There was a time deep in the catacombs of the years when Caleix wasn't a tyrant. Wasn't a king.

There was a time when he was still learning in the ways of the Warrior. He, too, was swept by the tides of the world. He, too, loved the warmth of the sun upon his face. He was only a youth, then—a youth with no real friendship or truth in his life, only the lies and shadows of one who is next in line for the throne. It was a smoke-marred world for him, one lost almost completely in the greyness of the sky.

But one day, forty-three years ago, that changed forever.

"Celdan! Over here!"

The voices wove themselves with the spring wind like dancing ribbons, Caleix turning in curiosity. Beneath the shade of the young cherry trees at the far end of the field, a throng of youths had gathered, chattering busily amongst themselves.

He raced across to join them; with a smile he glanced down at the source of their interest—and his smile vanished as he realized that there, in the three-foot ditch beneath the trees, lay a petite girl with dark eyes and unkempt brown hair full of twigs.

Instantly, realization awakened in him—_Ceramina, _his brain supplied. _Ceramina from our class._ Ceramina, who was always in a corner, reading her skill books or polishing her sword. Her cheeks were flushed red as the cherries above, red as blood swelling on her scratches. Yet her face was untouched in the dappled shadows—and suddenly, he saw that her eyes were more beautiful than he remembered them being.

"What's going on?" he cried in alarm, kneeling at the ditch's edge. The rest chortled and guffawed as Ceramina's pleading eyes rose to meet his.

"Come on, join in!" the one he always called "Astef"—though his real name was Slein—invited, the look of an entertained torturer upon his countenance. Caleix drew back, repulsed.

"What is _wrong _with you?" he gasped, voice rising in subconscious assent.

The others now turned—Colle, Tarnel, Garris. _False names._ "What's wrong with _you?_" Tarnel replied, bending for another stone, tossing it at the girl. He laughed, but it was a choked donkey's cry.

"No," the terrified youth murmured. Her shining eyes struck pain deep into him. "I'm not going to hurt her."

Ceramina whimpered weakly—and at once, projectiles rained from their hands, laughter from their lips. Caleix gave cries of refusal—but no one heard him. Still his heart hurt, screaming into his thoughts…

In that moment, blind courage took control. With an exclamation, he felt a barrier break—and leapt into the ditch, landing with a thump in the dust before the startled girl. Above, their voices rose in assent, hoarse with mockery. _"_You _chicken!" _cried his friends. A shower of stones flitted from the edge of the ditch, from those dirty hands and twisted grins—but no, it drove no fear into him. Regardless, he bent to lift Ceramina, her eyes continuously widening.

"Prince—Caleix—" she murmured, blinking her dark brown eyes in awe.

"If you want a name to call, it's Celdan," he responded, before the sting of another sharp stone reminded him of his task. "Let's go." And he took off along the gully with her body in his arms, trees and earth rushing past his vision in streaks and spirals. Together they fled, until finally the pair lay panting upon the bench of the front garden, where the gardeners were too many for any odd event to go unnoticed.

As their breaths evened out, the silence began to grow uncomfortable. "Hey, it's nice to meet you," the young man finally made his introduction. "Since you're going to be calling me by a false name, might you want to choose one for yourself too?"

"Ah, so _that's _why you call others by other names," she replied, face brightening suddenly.

"Oh, but that's not all," he replied with a sigh as his eyes slipped across the scenery on Henesys' outskirts. "I like to believe that the world isn't set in stone, that I can always be forgiven—and that truths can change, no matter how permanent they seem to have become."

"That's poetic. I think I'll choose the name Eleira. Your approval, please?"

Caleix smiled with fondness for her choice. "Deity of cherry trees. How apt." He laughed merrily; she laughed along. At once he felt true warmth blossom in him, for the first time in his short, wearying life.

Some classmates were puzzled after that, at the way the prince of Victoria Island would now spend all his time training with the unremarkable Ceramina—almost as if he were making up for the lack of attention she had received from the start. She _was _a surprising beauty, others began to notice—fitting for _his_ looks, as many liked to say—but was she any more than a dull bookworm who resided in the back of the classroom? What point did Prince Caleix see in befriending someone like that?

He merely disregarded all the curious, puzzled, contemptuous comments that constantly flew around the class. He ignored their stares and murmurs of disapproval, and reassured her whenever she expressed regret. It didn't matter, after all. Her friendship was more than worth it.

_No one will understand, _the prince told himself. _She's not afraid of being herself around me. She doesn't pretend to be someone she isn't. That's all I want in a friend._

_All I want._

Summer flowed on. Outside of school, life became more burdensome. Caleix's parents constantly asked: "You're nineteen, and you have yet to choose a wife! Will you hurry, for the sake of all the ancestors watching from above?"

He never did answer the question—for he didn't want to. All the time, he would gaze at his parents' faces, faces aged with care, faces layered with grey worry. He knew that he would someday inherit the kingdom and all the responsibilities it entailed, and that whomever he married would share the staggering weight with him. For that, he didn't want to find himself a wife. It wasn't _right_, to drag another into an torment for the sake of selfish love.

In school, Caleix maintained a vast group of "friends"—_sure, if they want my friendship they can have it—_and yet _they _had receded into the shadows, replaced by the brilliant new presence in his life that was Ceramina. She was a partner, a confidante, a supporter. And it was inevitable, though surprising, that he found more solace in her than in all the companions he had once known.

There was something about the way she glanced back at him every time she departed, which never failed to bring a warmth to his soul—a warmth that defied even the coldness of his looming future.

As the present year slid by, so slow that it seemed almost as if the Clock Spirit didn't wish to let it go, the summer melted away, and the cherry leaves blazed like falling flames. The autumn wind brought biting cold to Henesys, and this was clearer than ever as they observed the scenery from the school's front doorway.

"Remember that place?" He whispered these words to Ceramina beside him, pointing towards the distant trees at the end of the field. Shivering, she nodded, though her face was alarmingly pale.

Caleix asked her many times if she was feeling fine—and each time, she claimed that she was. But during their return trip, she finally succumbed. The girl stumbled suddenly to her knees, clutching her sides with moans of pain. "Eleira!" Caleix exclaimed, turning to catch her before she collapsed forward.

The male youth wasted no time to take her to the sick room, laying her upon the bed and covering her with the blanket, before calling the healer. The woman hurried in and examined her—fast, but somehow never fast enough. Even as the Cleric went through the process, Ceramina weakened further. Beads of sweat shone on her face, her cheeks flushing with sickness.

"Why didn't she report her ailment earlier?" the healer nurse muttered.

"What is it?"

"Spider's Needle. A mild disease normally, but it worsens to fatality when the body experiences sudden stress. In this case, the cold."

Fear sprung to his face, but the healer shook her head. "No, it isn't your fault; she told no one…"

Minutes turned into hours, laden with shadows. "Why, Eleira?" he kept asking. "You almost let me _kill _you—" Almost as if hearing the words was too much, Caleix felt his tears spill over.

"No, no…" Ceramina, _Eleira _whispered, shivering. "It's not you." But even now, her face was red with fever, and her eyes dulled further every moment.

Ceramina stayed within the ward from that day on. And he stayed at her bedside everyday, skipping classes and training to watch her lest her spirit fled while he wasn't there. How many times he had cried for her—but every day, she would smile and entwine her fingers with his, and promise with fortitude to someday return.

_I'm sorry, Eleira, _he would think to himself as he departed from the room each evening, pushing the door open a crack so he could look at her face again. It didn't feel right to leave her here—something in his heart made him want to guard her, always. Why had he allowed her to suffer so? When had he let down his caution? He wished he could remain her guardian forever—and yet he was about to become her murderer_._

Seven weeks slipped by him, seven weeks of sitting and kneeling and soft whispered conversations. _Don't leave me here, Eleira, _he begged silently. _If you survive this—I'll make sure that it never happens again._

It had been exactly seven weeks already, Caleix recalled as he came to Ceramina's bedside once more. There had been defiance in her eyes, before this—but now, even that had vanished. In her limp figure, there resided only submission, and that pierced Caleix's heart the deepest.

"Eleira, why aren't you fighting?" he asked softly. "Why are you letting go so easily?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Please, Eleira! This isn't _you! _You're not the girl I knew you to be!" he cried suddenly, though the despair was only for his own guilt. "I want to walk with you again, don't you know? In the garden, when the spring is here again, and the cherry trees are blooming! Will you not let me? Are you going to leave me here—here, where no one trusts me or loves me, and yet everyone watches me?"

In his rage, he struck the wall with his fist and gave a cry. The prince stumbled to the sink, dousing his face in cold water, crying out angrily—wretchedly. Then, turning back to Ceramina, he suddenly realized that glittering streams of tears had appeared on her cheeks, her sobs violent and tired. "Eleira!" he gasped.

"Yes," she answered softly, as he hurried back to her side. "I want that too. I want to walk with you in the gardens, and see the cherry blossoms." She leant sobbing against his shoulder, and for these moments, it hurt more than ever.

The young woman suddenly began to recover in the days to come, like the world after the scourge of winter. The nurses and healers gave surprised murmurs every time they made their checks, sometimes having excited discussions among themselves. Slowly, Ceramina's eyes regained the brightness they had lost—slowly, too, the sickly hue faded from her face. Caleix brought her her favourite food every day—red bean soup—and they would converse with more liveliness with each passing hour, as she ate and read.

"I want to see them with you," she whispered over and over. No one knew what those words meant.

And on the eighth week, Ceramina was deemed well enough to be discharged. Caleix watched, heart singing, as she rose from the bed and stretched her legs. She swayed as she took her first step, young man coming quickly to support her to the door. Then she turned around, realizing that she had left her books on the bed, before stumbling back to gather them in her arms.

Wandering slowly back to him, the young woman smiled and declined his offer to help her with the stack. "I can't thank you enough, Celdan," the girl said sincerely. He smiled in response, with a fondness he didn't remember ever feeling.

"No, don't thank me," he replied. "You were strong, yourself."

"Nah—it was because…you were there." Ceramina glanced up at him, smiling—just for a moment—and his heart danced wildly in her gaze, though he didn't know why. Smile widening, she shifted all her books onto one arm and leant forward, extending the other for an embrace, her silken brown hair carrying the faint scent of cherries.

That was when everything finally made sense to Caleix. An impulse reigned over him in that moment—and instead of taking her embrace, he bent forward quickly and kissed her.

Ceramina's books scattered across the floor. She stumbled backwards, gasping. Suddenly self-conscious, Caleix stepped away, blinking and glancing at the floor.

"What was…_that _about?" she asked, shock lacing her voice.

"I—don't know."

But when he next looked, she gazed at him with smiling, brimming eyes. That was all he cared for.

Ceramina never really returned to full health again. The sickness had weakened her limbs—and now, she could never be a Warrior again. And because her stay no longer served any purpose, she had to leave the school.

"Where will you go?" he asked brokenly, as they met on the front steps again that evening.

She was smiling, but her eyes belied it. "Oh, I don't really know." Her gaze fled to the distance, where the cherries had lost their leaves, and the blustery winter sky was devoid of colour. "Become a seamstress, maybe; my parents were in the trade."

"'Were'?"

The young woman nodded slightly, but explained no further. Heart falling to pieces over and over, he tried to smile and look her in the eye.

"Ceramina…"

Ceramina glanced at him in surprise. Rapidly losing the thread, he sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Don't bother," he replied. "There are other roads for you to take. Other ways."

"Other ways?" she inquired.

"Other ways to live your life. Not trapped in a castle where you can't roam further."

Ceramina must have understood, for her eyes were wide. "This—is such a surprise," she murmured, looking down, smiling. "Are you sure? There _must_ be better people—"

Caleix laughed. "Am I _sure? _You've done so much for me," he replied. "Things you didn't notice you were doing. You were _real. _And you never let me hurt myself, though I did anyway. Isn't that reason enough to be sure?"

Her eyes continued to stray; her smile lingered. "It's because…you saved me," she whispered with a wayward gaze. "You saved me from what my life could have been—"

"—And why not let it stay that way forever?" he asked, taking her hand suddenly. Then he glanced away. " I have a promise to keep. I nearly killed you once. Let me—let me have a chance to correct that."

Ceramina glanced looked downwards as his grip slipped to her wrist. "Will you let me love you?"

Caleix could have cried from sheer joy. "Yes, yes, I will," he gasped, voice brimming. "I've been searching all my life for you, Eleira!"

And so the prince found his princess. He took her to meet his parents the following weekend—and they were shocked to see that he had chosen a commoner over the nobles—but his commitment to the choice was obvious, and they allowed it. The time soon came, when the cherries were blooming and spring was slipping through the cracks of the winter sky, for the pair to be wedded. It was the most massive wedding party the city had known for the last few decades—Henesys was bedecked with streamers, and the market stores were closed, for everyone was there to celebrate.

Things slipped quickly into place, after that. Ceramina seemed almost made for the role—she had learnt so many things through her reading that she hardly needed to be briefed. She even had her own opinions on how things could be improved, and all her ideas were surprisingly good. Life was wonderful for the prince and princess, and neither could ask for better.

But of course, when a prince marries a commoner, one can't expect things to stay calm for long. The nobles, all of whom had assumed that a girl from one of the noble houses would become the prinncess, had been sorely disappointed. It was a violation of an unwritten age-old rule, as far as they saw it. And the right punishment would have to be meted out.

One day in the first flowering of summer, when the sun was burning high, the attack was suddenly launched—an attack to punish the royal family. The king had had no warning; all four families rose to the flame, and in the scour of summer swooped down upon the resting royal household.

With great fury in their eyes, Caleix's parents stood from their thrones and took their weapons. _"They think that because they carry the blood, they have _all _the rights to the throne, and only to themselves," _his father said with unnerving strength in his eyes. _"I want them to see that any other person could prove just as worthy—as long as Love is the diviner." _Then, in what the prince would consider a stupid move for the rest of his life, they joined the battle.

The summer became a storm. Within the rage of the sunbeams, the striking and ringing of metal swallowed the birdsong, echoing against ancient walls and young trees. Flashes of blood lit the sky, and the gardens were stained.

The screams numbered more than the flowers. In the hollow pools lay royal blood, peasant blood. As the rancor of violence slowly drained away with the onslaught of exhaustion, the last living dozens began to stumble from battle, hearts crying though their faces were set. Bodies littered the castle grounds, corpses of the guards and the traitor lords alike. Curses were exchanged; last scuffles, all spiritless. Then, in the dark of the twilight, the surviving attackers rode finally through the gates.

And they rode in triumph—for upon their horses lay the corpses of the dead king and queen.

The castle mourned for the entire week. A funeral followed a wedding, so closely—and both painfully linked, too. For weeks, Caleix found himself with tears upon his face at the strangest moments, and when he spoke to the servants, he could never keep his voice steady. The summer nights were warm, but they shrieked of disaster and irony.

Only in Ceramina did he find comfort. He knew, over all, that the job suddenly lay upon him, sooner than he could ever have imagined. He glanced at his wife, and upon the sweet, youthful, timeless fairness of her face—_just like the cherry trees—_he wished it didn't have to be this way. Yet it had to be—and for the sake of law, of the country, of all the soulless eyes upon him, he allowed his life to go on.

A wedding, a funeral, a coronation. Summer waned, and King Caleix took the crown in the wreaths of bitterness, rising to the throne where the clouds were falling in the courtyard of a broken castle. The occasion was solemn tombstone-white, the clouds boding a summer storm as the jeweled crown was lain upon his head, the scepter in his palm. The applause was not congratulation, only mere acknowledgement.

And from then, like sandpaper on rust, the grey walls stripped away the careless days of old—days when life had been a frolic of starry eyes beneath the cherry trees of innocence. Days when he had been Celdan, and she, Eleira.

Now they were only King Caleix and Queen Ceramina—two marble dolls, seated upon the shelf of lost heaven.

* * *

"Well, Aismeth," he called to his housekeeper-cum-advisor. "What do you make of this?"

Two notes had appeared on the tyrant king's desk that day. As he had been sifting through his complaint letters—the usual—these two had caught his eyes. And as he now read them aloud to his housekeeper, his eyes grew dark.

The first:

_Your Majesty,_

_Captain Guard, Sir Feldoren Coime, was murdered on routine patrol yesterday. We believe the perpetrators to be members of an illegitimate guild in the Henesys area, whose members and practices we have not been able to gather sufficient information on, except for their existence and intent._

_Asst. Captain Guard Esharo Hesprel_

He gave a hollow sigh at the end of his words and tossed that note into the bin. Bad news wasn't common—and when any came, it had to be dealt with immediately. Caleix went on to read the second, this one hurriedly scribbled in juvenile script:

_Your Majesty_

_Your woodcutter unit was massacred yesterday evening. I saw a group of about ten leave the forest after that. Among them were a white-haired girl, and, unmistakably, the Silver Fang of El Nath._

_Loril Whithria of the Leafre Woodcutter Unit_

This one brought more agitation to his eyes, and to the eyes of Aismeth, who shifted quickly away and glanced into her hand-mirror. The sigh that now left the king was even more aggravated than the first.

"Charming. Absolutely charming."

The Silver Fang, again. He had been hearing a lot about her lately—and about a girl with white hair. A similar girl had escaped from the Ellinia Station years ago, he vaguely recalled. She had been put into the station and left weaponless, because she had been dangerous. But now she had escaped and joined the Silver Fang. Things were turning ugly, very ugly.

Well, problems always had to be nipped in the bud_._ Caleix brushed all the complaint letters into the bin, together with the crushed pair of notes. Calling to Aismeth, he whispered something to her. The woman departed from the room, and returned fifteen minutes later with his Assistant Guard Captain.

"Mr. Hesprel," the king murmured, still seated. The guard bowed. "There will be no official ascension for you. We are short of time. This is the first task of your term: I want you to rally your men, and clean the rebels out _now_. Use all your contacts. Bribe. Go where no one thought to go."

"Yes, sir," Esharo answered, grey eyes hardening to steel. "The rebels will be gone."

The king steeped his fingers and mused for a while, taking glances at his housekeeper. "Hm, Mr. Hesprel," he went on after a while. "I do remember something _else. _Something pressing. Four particular rebels have escaped our clutches for more than a decade. It's time to end the games and begin the real war, don't you think? If there are any people I want rooted out first, it's _them."_

"Ah, the Job Masters, your Majesty?" The king nodded, before Esharo suddenly picked up on an earlier thread of thought. "Sir, I believe I ought to voice one of my fears now. I have begun to feel a strange tension about the people of Henesys. They are becoming defiant. I have every reason to believe a revolt is on its brink now. Shall I—"

Caleix smiled in calm praise. "Ah, that. I was expecting that. I think we—the two of us—we will ensure that this _revolt _doesn't succeed, won't we?" he replied.

This time, the Guard Captain dared to smile in response.

"Yes, we will. When do we start?"

* * *

_ralinn: fire and ice_

The lush trees of Minar Forest's remains were laden with waterfalls of sunlight, as the guild trekked on towards the main city. Ever since the Spearhead had been found, Orion's Belt had lived in Leafre, lodging under the care of the native Hafrings—furry, intelligent, creatures with a quaint sense of humour and an obsession with protecting wyvern eggs.

During their stay, all ten had been sorely disappointed to find out that—contrary to what their naïve little minds had hoped—no one could find a good way to connect the Spearhead to the Shaft.

"Let's use super-glue," Raydan once suggested—an idea that was graciously shot down.

The birdsong swelled, and sunlight streamed. At once all canopies and trunks of the forest fell away, leaving only a parchment of bare land before them. But even now, there were signs of recovery everywhere. Around the newly-built huts, furrows had been tilled, and some seedlings were already sprouting green through the rich earth.

In time, they arrived at Naol's hut, their temporary home. "Okay, pack pack pack," Ralinn snapped the instant all ten were inside. A chorus of lazy groans came—as expected. "If it's any consolation, guys—the next stop is going to be interesting. Dead Mines of El Nath, anyone?"

The groans transformed into horrified gasps. "Dead Mines?" Raydan moaned. "I don't want to die _again_!"

"Well, Dan, what do you expect? You said you wanted to defeat the king. And you _know _that won't happen unless we risk death many times."

Akera's attention had been grabbed by this revelation. "Which part are we looking for this time?" she asked.

The guild leader fished a dog-eared—probably overdue—library book from her bag and leafed through it. "Neck," she replied. "Joins the Shaft to the Spearhead. _Now _we know why our pieces haven't been making any sense."

"We're going to find the Neck," Akera echoed as she gathered her belongings from the table to pack them. "Alright, so we'll break into a prison with a hundred corridors, find a tiny object item that could be _anywhere _inside—and leave unscathed. How _very _simple. Except that we'll have the entire necromancer guard unit on our heels."

Somewhere in the room, someone snorted. Otherwise, there was a beautiful, dead silence.

"So?" Akera asked, her glare raking the room of silent guild members. "_How_ is that going to happen?" The words were stunningly crushing. Ralinn bowed, almost conceding defeat.

Then she realized that she knew the answer—and looked up, smiling.

"Ah, but of course," the guild leader replied, voice cutting the air like a blade. She, in a very unbefitting action for the moment, picked up her underwear and stuffed it into her bag. "We know how smart you are, Akera. Don't you think _you _could create a way for us?"

Ralinn mentally placed her bets. It was a challenge. Akera _never _refused a challenge.

"So?" the Ranger asked. "We're leaving for El Nath in fifteen minutes. The decision must be made before then. What do you say?"

The pause was tense and full. Finally, with haughtiness upon her features, she answered. "Of course, but with Lanoré's help."

Ralinn's heart was buoyed up by the light in those icy blue eyes. Lanoré gave an exclamation from close by, and her eyes met Akera's, flashing with delight.

Almost as if the agreement was the starting gun everyone had been awaiting, Raydan suddenly gave an enthusiastic call and commenced his packing, though he hung close to Telida to…_observe _her clothes as she packed. Clynine was flushed with pride for her mistress. Zethis was staring at Clynine. Ketara and Shirion were suddenly in rapid conversation—or rather, Ketara was suddenly in rapid monologue, and Shirion in a very admirable Zen state.

At the corner of the room, by the toilet, Turino was trying to stay away from everybody else.

The guild took merely five minutes for them to finish. After a customary final check of the area, they carried their bags and opened the door—only to find Chief Tatamo standing there with a bag of gifts in his hands.

"Greetings, humans! Or fare you well, shall I say?" he called, waving.

"What are those?" asked Ralinn, glancing at the bag.

"Oh, Black Crystals—very useful they are," he murmured, stroking his beard as he presented the small bag to her. "_Vampire crystals, _they are called; effective in absorbing magic." He tapped a very terrified Zethis' armour breastplate. "Good for armour. Here we have three for you. Use them wisely, hm?"

With a bow and many thanks, the guild leader wished the affable old Hafring goodbye. Upon the streets of new Leafre, they found directions, before proceeding towards the eastern border of the city.

Sure enough, there lay the quarry of their search—a brilliant bluebird nestled in the ruins of old Leafre. This was her old docking point—Sorelia was her name—and though it had been destroyed long ago, she could somehow never let go. There she rested, eyes closed as she dozed in the sunshine, azure feathers puffed out beneath her beak.

"Excuse me," the guild leader murmured carefully, approaching the bird. The creature gave a cry of alarm and leapt from her roosting position, chattering in shock.

"You again!" she cried furiously. "I refuse to carry such a weight again!"

"But—but please," the guild leader exclaimed. "We need—El Nath—"

"_El Nath!"_ the bluebird shrieked, fluttering crazily about. "No, not the blizzard land! No!"

Ralinn suddenly felt faint. She stepped backwards, hoping, just hoping that someone else in the guild had a plan…

Then, from the group stepped Raydan, a bright smile on his face and a hand in his pocket. "There, now!" the Sniper exclaimed, advancing slowly. "We'll pay well. Promise." The bird murmuring skeptically.

_What are _you _going to do, Dan? _Ralinn thought incredulously. _What _can _you do? _She frowned, the scolding already upon her tongue.

Then, he did something unbelievable.

He produced a lollipop. One of the lollipops he had stolen from the Ludibrium ball, no doubt.

And to everyone's shock, the bird suddenly went still, her iridescent feathers flattening on her round shape.

"Ah, lollipop," she gasped, hopping carefully towards the Sniper. "Can I—?"

"Help yourself," Raydan responded with a smile.

All she could do was gape, as her brother unwrapped the lollipop, and the bird tentatively snapped the piece of candy off the end of the stick, allowing it to roll into her silver beak.

The bird's eyes brightened. "_Candy! _It's been so long!" she exclaimed, hopping about in circles. Instantly, she was upon Raydan again. "More please, good sir!"

"All in due time," the Sniper responded coolly. "Would you take us to El Nath then, dear bird?"

"Please call me Sorelia," she responded enthusiastically, all laziness gone. "Of course, how much more candy do you have?"

Ralinn spent three minutes in complete puzzlement. When in the world had her brother learnt the secret art of Communicating with Birds? As the goings-on slowly grew more and more bizarre, it was Shirion who finally connected the dots for Ralinn. "Hm, Ralinn, this is very surprising indeed," he murmured from beside her. "_'Bluebirds will render extra services to those who pay in candy'_, you once said? Seems like _that _conversation wasn't so pointless after all."

Moments later, the entire guild was mounting the bird for the second time. Thanks to Raydan's hidden genius, they had regained their straight six-hour road back to El Nath. Once they had mounted, Sorelia quickly ascended to the clouds, the Sniper upon her neck, laughing as he helped her pull her goggles on.

"So," Ralinn murmured, turning her gaze to Akera and Lanoré, who sat together in the corner of the saddle. "Come up with anything yet?"

"Hey, easy on us!" Lanoré replied with a smile. "It's only been half an hour. We have a draft—but we need more information on the place; my memory alone won't serve us far enough. But information will easily come, if Sorelia here will land within El Nath's borders."

The Ranger nodded, and turned to her brother. "Any chance of a landing _in _El Nath?" she called over. Raydan presented the request to Sorelia, who, surprisingly, acceded with absolutely no fuss. She soared on, cutting through the sky, leaving nothing but a trail of scattered clouds in her wake.

_This candy sure is something, _mused Ralinn.

* * *

_a sky of drafts_

As Sorelia made her swift course northwards, the gales beneath her wings grew fiercer. Already, they carried the bitter sting of wintry cold, even though it was still early autumn—and to everyone, this was a sure sign that they were nearing El Nath.

Throughout the entire four hours that had already passed, Akera and Lanoré had been deep in discussion. With whatever memories Lanoré had of the place, they had cooked up a deliciously elaborate scheme to find the Spear Neck.

Then, Lanoré had decided to make a passing comment.

"Ah, it's such a pity we can't free all those prisoners," she had murmured.

Instantly, Akera's eyes had widened. "Hey, why not?" Typical Akera. "Now _that's _a challenge. What do you think?"

And almost immediately, the two had launched into another long discussion.

Occasionally, one of the others decided to tune in to the conversation. They would find themselves engulfed in an ocean of clauses like _"but don't you think they'd realize…?" _and _"that leaves no room for mistakes" _and _"they won't fall for it"._ Then, there were all sorts of technicalities; long periods of discussion on psychology, physics, probability.

Eventually, anyone who tried to listen in soon turned off.

By now, a full sheet of paper full of cancellations and rewrites had been produced, and the two were still adding to it. The pencil spent most of its time in Lanoré's hand, but the ever-ferocious Akera would often snatch it away to make additions.

* * *

_raydan: white and blue_

Two more dreary hours passed the group by, Raydan trying his best to ignore Akera and Lanoré's conversation. Things he didn't understand had a bad habit of deflating his ego—and Raydan hated having his ego deflated.

Instead, he turned his attention to Sorelia, spending the entire trip conversing with her.

Something of a silent bond had grown between the two, over their long trip together. She had a sweet sense of humour that came across as surprising tasteful, to him. Together they had had an enjoyable evening, joking with each other, commenting on the lovely shapes that the clouds made. Over the six hours, too, Sorelia made many requests for the lollipops she loved so much—but he had grown to love the bird enough to submit without any fuss.

"Savour it while you have the chance," Raydan called with a wide grin, as the bird fell into a glide, and the Sniper—having a keen eye and a true aim—tossed the candy into her beak. Sorelia gave a cry of adoration, before proceeding to savour it, just as he had suggested.

Swiftly the minutes soared on. And though it made their hearts hurt to see this moment, the time finally came when the white fields of El Nath flooded across the dimming horizon, and Sorelia fell into gentle descent. The bluebird didn't realize it, but Raydan could see the tears in her eyes, crystal droplets that sparkled as they fell through the winds and the dying sunset.

Somehow, too, the Sniper found himself sighing.

The pale snows came to swallow the world, and as the dark village houses grew larger beneath them, windows glowing with firelight, the bird spread her wings to brake, Raydan hanging onto her neck; an embrace. Finally she came to land, bouncing twice across the slippery snow before stopping in a small mound of snowflakes, her breaths coming deep and soft.

Just as sudden as the landing had been, the frigid white winds came upon them, a blanket of freezing cold in the star-spangled, indigo twilight. All conversation among the guild members instantly rose with anticipation—but the young Sniper's heart only fell into silence.

"Ah, home!" Lanoré exclaimed. Then to the bluebird, "Perfect landing, Sorelia! My commendations!" The ten dismounted, and began to put on their winter clothes. "Just follow the street, away from the sunset. Third house from the end, with the silver wind chimes. It hasn't been used in a while, so the stuff might be dusty."

Eight others departed quickly, all desperate to leave the coldness of El Nath and light a crackling fire in Lanoré's fireplace. Akera stayed behind, shoving Raydan aside with a small mutter, before whispering something to the bird. Something probably unrelated to a farewell, the Sniper noted from her expression. That done, she departed into the whiteness, following the rest.

But Raydan couldn't leave. However freezing the weather had grown, his feet were rooted to the ground, beside the beautiful Leafre bird.

"Hey," the Sniper suddenly murmured. Turning to him, Sorelia sighed and fluffed up her feathers against the cold. Raydan proceeded to dig around in his bag, and he produced a lollipop—his last lollipop, though he didn't tell the bird. "Parting gift."

Breaking the candy from the stick, Raydan placed it in Sorelia's beak. She chirped in response, though the clear note shivered in the coldness, as she gently touching her beak to his snow-covered, dark blonde hair.

"Fly safe," he said, softer than usual. _How funny, _he thought to himself vaguely. _I'm not used to hearing my voice say sad things. _

And as he waved, she was already rising on the winds, singing a song to him—a song he wouldn't forget for a long, long time. In a blur of blue and white and the colours of heaven, Sorelia vanished through the mists of the snow and stars, taking Raydan's last lollipop with her.

_

* * *

clynine: always go for the white knights_

"Clynine? Hey—Clynine—um…"

Though she could already feel the cold setting in, Clynine turned—and she smiled when she found her hazy gaze upon Zethis. Withstanding the cold just a little longer, she waved back. "Hey," she called, drawing her arms close and sniffling. "Cold day—adythi'g you wadded to say?"

Instead of replying, Zethis clasped his hands together and blushed, glancing at his feet. "No-nothing," he replied softly. "Let's—let's go…inside." Clynine giggled at his expression, though she was shivering, her nose running like a tap in the biting cold.

"Yeah, led's go idside," the Cleric echoed with a wet sniffle. Then she turned away and sneezed twice into her gloved hands, before raising her gaze back to the warrior. "Comi'g?"

"You sound terrible!" Zethis suddenly exclaimed, hurrying to her side. "Sure you're fine?"

"Dah…I'll ged by," she replied with a shaky smile, before turning away and sneezing again. Hand clumsy from numbness, she dug out her handkerchief and blew her nose until it was clear. "Today's _really _cold, even for El Nath…"

She gave a cry of surprise as the White Knight placed a gentle arm around her shoulders, the warmth of his hand banishing her coldness. When she turned to him, he shifted his brown gaze quickly to the door, desperately trying not to meet her eyes.

Once inside the house and close by the wonderful fire, Clynine dumped her bag on the floor, blowing her nose desperately. Then her mistress called her to her bedroom, and ever obedient, she followed.

"Clynine," the Cleric's mistress murmured as she dug around in the heavily-laden drawers. Clynine glanced at her questioningly. Lanoré looked out the doorway, and smiled widely. "That boy likes you, you know."

"Eh? What?" Clynine exclaimed, reddening and dropping the jackets in her hands. "No!"

The Archmage folded her arms, shaking her head. "Clynine!" she said. "I'd do anything to have someone like Zethis going after me! But I'm a little…old, you know?" This was accompanied by a small laugh. "And anyway, always go for the White Knights. White Knights make the best husbands."

Her mistress flashed her a blinding lightning smile—and before the girl could go on, the Archmage had buried her head in her wardrobe again.

* * *

_the introduction_

On adjacent armchairs in the empty living room, Ketara and Telida were currently in a very lively discussion about scarves. The thief was in a red sweater, while the warrior had his usual jacket on, his feet propped carelessly on Lanoré's coffee table. As Raydan headed towards the bathroom, towel in hand, he glanced at the pair and paused.

"Oh, the two _lovebirds_," he exclaimed, appearing behind Telida's sofa.

"Rubbish," Telida replied with much annoyance, throwing a punch back over her shoulder—a punch that narrowly missed the Sniper's face. "Do you have _evidence_?"

"Come on, Lida!" Ketara laughed in response. "He's joking!"

Telida made a grumbling sound and withdrew, but Raydan didn't bother hanging around any longer. Teasing _them _wasn't any fun.

In half an hour's time, almost everyone was ready in the living room, waiting for the two mages to address them on their plans. Unfortunately, Raydan decided to delay the entire schedule by taking his time in the bathroom. But every bath must end, no matter how wonderful—and by nine o'clock, the entire guild, Sniper included, was gathered in Lanoré's carpeted living room.

Akera took a last glance at the three-page draft that the two Mages had scripted, as the rowdy group slowly began to settle down, gathering in a semicircle on the living room floor. In the depths of the snowy El Nath night, the flames crackled and murmured, warming their fingers and toes.

"Take it away, Akera," Ralinn finally murmured after a short silence. The Mage shot her a glare, and this was not helped by the fact that the guild leader was beside Shirion.

"Alright, alright," Lanoré put in. "There's no need to distract yourselves with little rivalries now when we've got bigger problems coming."

The younger mage nodded reluctantly, before straightening and beginning to speak. "Right, we're done with our plan—more or less," the white-haired girl said. "All constants have been dealt with. Now, all that's left are the variables."

"Our variables," Lanoré continued. "Are all about the guards' knowledge. We need to know whether they know _where _the Neck is. And we need to know just how smart they are. And to gain this information, we need to ask around."

At this point, the Archmage glanced about. Some were twiddling their thumbs; others were looking at their laps. "No worries," she then went on. "We have already chosen the ones who are most likely to succeed. Namely, the ones who would meet the least resistance from a stranger. Namely, Ketara and Telida." She turned.

"Why Telida?" asked Raydan from a corner.

"Why don't you ask yourself, _pervert_?" Akera replied sharply. The Sniper glanced down at his palms, humming.

Lanoré took another glance in their direction. "Are you alright with doing the task for us?" she questioned. Ketara nodded enthusiastically; Telida watched him before agreeing cautiously.

"Good then—these are your instructions," Akera proceeded efficiently. Beside the sofa, the fire purred warmly. "Lanoré says that one of her acquaintances defected to the king's side a decade ago. You will pay him a visit tomorrow evening—and while you are there, this is what you must do. Find out whether the guards know where the Neck is, and see if you can gain any clues on its whereabouts. If they _don't _know where the Neck is, we might be in for a little trouble.

"Second—if possible at all—find us a map of the Dead Mines. Remember, we're facing enemies on their home turf, and they have infinitely more knowledge of the Mines than we do. If anything, a map will help level out the playing field." Her cold blue eyes fixed themselves upon the two, like a predator observing her prey.

Meanwhile, Lanoré took the stage at the other end of the room. "There is the second task, though it need not worry you," she added in a tone considerably lighter, a crooked smile curving her lips. "Just a small _test _to see how smart these prison guards are…"

The Archmage left it at that. So that was that. Nothing more was revealed about the plan that night, and Orion's Belt later went to sleep in various parts of Lanoré's little house. But already the nervousness had set in, even in their dreams—especially upon the two who had been chosen for the mission tomorrow.

* * *

_telida: away from the cold_

The morning mist curled in lazy wreaths round the support posts of Lanoré's house. Here, autumn was colder than winter nights, and everyone was safe within wooden walls, lying awake upon the floor, where they had fallen asleep the night before.

All except for two.

In the bitter cold of the morning, Telida stood ankle-deep in the snow, shivering. Behind her, Lanoré's wind chimes were singing like ghosts, whispering across the frost. "I can't do this," she sighed, swinging away when Ketara, behind her, attempted to touch her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Lida!" he exclaimed, trying to smile, though the worry in his friend's eyes hurt him. "It's just a short, simple trip."

"But I don't want to—to _screw _it up, and ruin the whole thing for our guild!" she replied angrily, never meeting his eyes. She fumed for a minute more, pacing about. Then, the Hermit's shoulders sagged. "I—don't want everything to fail…because of me."

Ketara turned to her in surprise. "The Telida I used to know would _never_ say that," he remarked suddenly, a warm smile coming to him. "You've changed a lot, you know?"

There was silence, and the howl of the winter, for minutes. Telida blinked, considering his terrifyingly truewords.

_I'm…changing. Weakening._

Could she accept this? Was it right, to allow herself to let go of the values she had held so true, her entire life before? He was changing everything for her, erasing every mark and rewriting her story—would she simply _allow _it to happen?

Closing her eyes, she felt his warm presence behind her—and slowly it dawned on her that she had _already_ accepted it.

"I never really believed in joy," the thief murmured. "I never thought it possible to leave the darkness." Then she turned back to him, a tiny smile coming to her face. "But being with _someone_ has changed that, it seems."

For lack of better response, the Dragon Knight laughed. "I'm not always happy," he replied. Telida gave a sniff of amusement, and his eyes brightened slightly. "So…this evening? Are you sure you want to do it?"

"You can't possibly go alone, can you?" she answered—then drew back. "I don't understand. Why am I so scared? It's not _like _me to be scared."

In response to that, Ketara patted the thief's shoulder, grinning. "Because it's something new," he reassured her. "And everyone's afraid of new things. But don't worry, Lida. I'll be there too. I'll keep it easy for you, okay?"

And that smile rendered all her fear invalid, nonexistent. It suddenly made her forget her shadowy past, her terrible father, her abusive brother—just for a second. Though she willed herself not to, Telida found herself smiling with hope. When she next looked up, though, the Dragon Knight was already returning to the house, calling to her. With great haste she followed.

Ketara vanished into the kitchen as Telida closed the door, and there she remained, alone at the doorway, gazing at the wooden wall opposite her. All of a sudden, she noticed how numb her fingers were—with cold and with surprise. Deep in her mind, something was mocking her.

_I'm so weak now, _she realized with dizzying disappointment._ I smile, and feel, and…my best friend is male. _

_I'm becoming a _girl. _A soft, helpless _girl.

Then something else replied, quiet but clear.

_But you _are _a girl, _it said. _You always were. And you were never given a chance to accept that fact. Why not accept it now?_

As the Hermit entered Lanoré's bathroom, she gazed into the mirror at her dark-haired reflection—those jet-black eyes, those dark lashes. Shadows, so many shadows.

_I've changed so much, _she whispered again in her mind._ Am I weakening, or am I finally seeing the truth? Is this…right?_

* * *

_lanoré: one needle_

Lanoré stood, a solitary figure in the morning street snow. Upon her face, there was the gentle, knowing smile of one who has full certainty of the events to come. In her right hand she held a needle, suspended two feet from the snow—one of the two needles they had found in the Ludibrium house.

She glanced into the pale morning distance, and watched the swirling snow clouds with deepening calm. _The beautiful world, _she thought, smile widening slightly. _The beautiful midnight world beneath. _Within these mountains lay the Dead Mines of El Nath—the unforgiving black prison, blanketed in layers of white.

Suddenly, she pictured her frail parents raising pickaxes over their shoulders. And knowing too well the surge of fear that came with the thought, she brushed the image away. That was a future she didn't want to consider.

_Alright, _the Archmage thought quietly, smile never leaving as her eyes came to rest upon the white horizon—white on white, grey on grey. _Let us see just how smart you are._

And she let the needle fall into the snow—a spine of silver glinting among the crystals of white.

_And so the game begins._

Breathing deeply in the silence, Lanoré returned indoors, though her eyes never really left the deathly pale horizon for the rest of the day.

And by lunchtime, the guard patrols on the streets had suddenly doubled, and necromancers were passing by everywhere, queerly. Every now and then, there were violent flashes of lightning at feet of the mountains—and beneath the snowy peaks swarmed throngs of guards, a hive of bees in panic. They were on full alert, and now the guards—human and necromancer alike—were charging up their mana reserves, readying themselves for a hypothetical disaster.

In the middle of dinner, Lanoré glanced out through the glass of the restaurant façade, observing the scene far beyond the twilight snowfields, a tendril of anxiety mingled with thrill creeping around her heart.

_Excellent. You're just as smart as we hoped. _The Archmage smiled, twirling her soupspoon in her fingers. _This will be a good game._

_

* * *

telida: a map and a road_

As the evening deepened into frosty blue, the lights shone orange through the windows, painting the streets with squares of orange. In the frigid darkness, a pair strode across the thick snow, hearts pounding in the cold starlight.

"I'm scared," Telida whispered again, softly, gently. "I'm…terrified."

Ketara touched her shoulder from beside her and smiled. "It'll be fine," he replied. "I'll do all the talking—all you have to do is find an excuse to look around."

Telida pursed her lips, her pale face shining whiter in the last light gleaming off the snow. Through the dusk they stumbled, both getting into character for the short act they were about to put up. They were posing as a pair of lost guards, sent to work at the Mines. Ketara was finding it relatively easy to take on the role, but Telida could only attempt to imitate him.

All too soon, the wooden door appeared before their vision, glowing windows on either side. Ketara extended a hand to knock—then he hesitated a second, glancing back at the girl. She nodded, and he let his fist hit the door.

From within, there was the heavy dragging of a chair. "Yes…coming," came the reply.

Telida swallowed. _Don't do anything wrong._

"Who are you?" the harsh question was like a gunshot in their ears. Possible answers spun by her head for a moment—then all at once, Telida felt herself blank out…

"Evening sir." The confident resonance of Ketara's voice instantly jerked Telida out of her terror. "We were sent by King Caleix to work at the mines, but…um, it seems we have lost our way."

Everything suddenly spun into place, and her eyes came to meet the stooped old guard's. Before her, she saw her task, her task only, laid out like a scroll—untainted by the stains of fear, uncertainty, chance. Within the tones of her friend's effortless conversation, she found her footing again.

"…Oh, no, no—lodging isn't necessary, Mr. Rudilo. We simply require some food," the Dragon Knight replied warmly to the old man's offer. _Already in his element. _

The man glanced behind Ketara and saw the Hermit. His eyes brightened. "Oh, you are a fair-looking couple," he commented, eyeing her again.

"Ah, we're not a couple," the Dragon Knight replied quickly. "Just good friends. But thank you for your compliment."

Within moments, the guard, Rudilo, had whisked them into his little home, his eyes bright with welcome—so much welcome it almost alarmed the thief. "Feel at home, friends!" he called happily, pulling three chairs at the dining table, before rushing over to the kitchen as fast as his rheumy old feet would allow.

Ketara dropped into one of the chairs with delight, bouncing happily on the cushion. Telida quietly took her place beside him, glancing around at their woody surroundings. "I almost feel bad," the warrior whispered over. This suddenly brought her job back to mind, and she sat up, watching the kitchen door for the man to reappear.

He did, five minutes later—with three steaming bowls of stew. "Not much," he apologized. "I just grabbed the good ingredients and stirred them up."

"Oh, it's perfectly fine!" Ketara replied, his smile widening. As they ate, the urgency of their mission consistently tugged at Telida's mind. _A map, _it kept whispering back. _Find a map. _As they ate, she fidgeted in her seat, wishing that Ketara would get a move on their job. But he was too busy enjoying the admittedly tasty stew, and certainly wouldn't be starting any time soon. It was up to her.

"Hello…sir," the Hermit suddenly began. Both heads turned with curiosity. For moments, she lost her grip—then quickly found it again. "Do you…know anything about the mines that we're—going to work at?"

"Ah, the Mines!" Rudilo exclaimed. "You have come to the right person, my friends! It's ever so tough, guarding the prisoners…you know, always the usual. Prisoners always trying to escape—why, just two years ago, we had our most grievous prison break yet!" His brow furrowed as he recalled, so much that Telida actually felt twinges of pity. "Four guards died at the hands of two prisoners. How in the world _did _they get a hold of their staves? I can't believe Xelion allowed it to happen!"

Ketara sat up in interest. "Xelion? That's—"

"Our necromancer guard captain," he replied with a small shiver. "He's a scary man, if 'man' I can call him. Knife-sharp too, his mind." He gave a short chuckle at the next words. "I'd love to see someone cause trouble while _he's _in power. Humans, necromancers—we all fear him. Only he can open the prison cells. Only he knows all the ways in the Mines."

As he said these words, Telida mentally catalogued the new knowledge. Doubtless, Ketara was doing the same—but possibly in a less conscious manner, for the conversation continued.

"Ah! So I see," he said. "But I heard other rumours too. Something about…a dangerous darkness, somewhere in the MinesDo you know anything like that?"

There was only silence in his response.

Rudilo's gaze seemed to turn to ice as soon as the Dragon Knight had uttered the word "darkness". His lips parted, but no breath came. All over his pale face there was terror, weaving its way between his cracked lips, through his empty pupils. Ketara glanced at Telida.

At length, the old man spoke. But his words were laboured, his breaths uneven. "Ah…ah…yes," he murmured. "Are you sure you wish to know? Somewhere in the mine…"

At this, Ketara leant forward in interest. "Will you tell us?" he asked, placing a hand on his trembling arm.

Rudilo raised a hand, a hand which shook with a fear deeper than could be understood. "You ought to know…so my mistake is not repeated," he murmured. For the first time, Telida noticed the trust written deep in his eyes, and guilt welled up like acid in her throat.

Blinking what might have been tears away, the old man began. "It was a dark day. Colder than usual. My torch was in hand, as I looked for my way to the dormitories. You know how all the horizontal shafts are connected at the main vertical shaft? I entered shaft one, where our dormitories are situated. At least I _thought _I did. At the end of the corridor I turned right, as I was supposed to. And it never struck me, how _dark _the corridor was—"

He closed his eyes in despair. "Then—the ground just fell away. I never saw it. I fell in—fell so deep—and my torch went out. Queerly, there were no lights in this passage, I suddenly realised. Why had no one ever installed torches there? What _was _this place?

"I realized, then, that the exit was nine feet up, and I was trapped. And suddenly I felt _something _there, with me…

"I couldn't see, and I wanted to cry out—but I had realized long ago…that there was only one way. So I just felt, and crawled." Suddenly, his resolve weakened, and he sobbed. "…Through—through death. There were bones under my fingers. A—a skull. Grinning. And then an _arm_. Soft, and it smelt of—of blood and rot—

"It was the tomb of the Mines, it hit me then. I was among dead _prisoners, _and they were talking to me—"

He glanced at his bright ceiling lamp, and his eyes glazed over. "_We want you! _They said. I just told myself, over and over: _all side shafts lead to the main shaft. All side shafts lead to the main shaft. _Among the broken bodies, I crawled on. Until—I hit a wall—wet with stale groundwater.

"And there were holes on it… _holes, _like a honeycomb."

Again he sobbed, eyes shut tight, fists clenched. "It was a dead end. I was trapped. _Trapped. _I just began to cry—like that. I didn't want to crawl forever in a tomb, among prisoners who had died. I wanted to go back, go home, see _light…_

"Then I suddenly felt a small, soft breath of air to my right. It—it wasn't a dead end. It was a sharp turn right! I gave a cry, and followed the path.

"Yet as I crawled towards the trace of air, something was tugging me back into the darkness. And there were tentacles, again. I could feel them now. The darkness didn't want me to leave. _We want you! _It said, louder than ever. _We want your skull! _I screamed and crawled as fast as I could, running my hands along the floor…thinking I was about to _die…_"

Rudilo gave a gasp. "I pulled, like pulling against a rubber band—and it snapped," he exclaimed. "It just _snapped_, and I collapsed upon my elbows. The light grew as I pulled myself the remaining distance, crying, and found myself at a tiny hole in the main shaft. I saw the rope lift opposite, with passengers on board. I was saved! Saved..."

The old guard heaved a sigh and trembled a little more, collapsing back against his chair. Ketara patted the man's arm and smiled reassuringly at him. He gulped more soup, and Telida—still rolling her eyes at the man's recount—drew back her chair, standing."I require the toilet," she said loudly. During his long story, her sharp eyes had picked out a shelf of rolled-up papers in the shadows of the far corridor.

"Oh, please do," Rudilo replied with a smile. "To your right, over there." He gestured towards the very corridor Telida had been hoping to visit. With a nod, she hurried over. Once within the darkness beside the shelves, she reached a casual hand out to check the first sheet.

A map of El Nath. _Close, but not quite. _She picked up the next roll and pulled it open a crack with her index finger, shaking her head when she saw that it was a guardhouse plan. Then, having a hunch, she glanced about elsewhere. She was looking for a more _unique _paper…

Almost instantly, her eyes found a well-fingered roll on the shelf below, a solitary map in the midst of a mess of stationery. _He ought to need this map a lot more than the rest, _she reasoned, picking up the scrolled-up sheet. The thief checked inside. _Bingo._

Telida glanced cautiously back at the dining room. Ketara was again in rapt conversation with the man, the bright lamplight making their smiles warm, creating the illusion that they were well acquainted with each other.

She quickly directed her attention back to the scroll in her hand, heart pounding in her throat. Having another thought, she quickly grabbed a similar-looking scroll and placing it where the map had been before. Then, folding the map and stuffing it in her shirt pocket, she entered the toilet at the end of the corridor.

* * *

"We have it." The door swung open, Telida and Ketara entering half an hour after departure. The two walked over to the group in the living room, the Hermit producing a folded sheet from her pocket.

"The map," she said proudly, placing it in Akera's lap. The Mage nodded in thanks, and Telida smiled slightly.

Meanwhile, Ketara repeated Rudilo's story to Lanoré. The Archmage took it in thoughtfully, stroking her chin and constantly asking the Dragon Knight to repeat parts, word for word. As he concluded, something seemed to run deep through her eyes, like a river whose currents were turning.

"Thank you so much, Ketara," she replied, though her voice was not as strong as usual. "This information was essential. Thank you." Then, after echoing the story to Akera in hushed tones, she turned to the rest, glancing from one face to another.

"Our plan is complete," the Archmage announced. "There will be four teams, four tasks, all equally important. Ralinn and Raydan, you are together. Shirion, Ketara, Zethis, the second team. Turino and Telida, you will be in the third. And I will take Akera and Clynine with me for the fourth team." She blinked, regaining her tone of regality. "Now, we will brief each of you on your parts. Ralinn and Raydan first. Everyone else is to leave."

With these words, the rest departed—while the first pair drew up to Lanoré's feet, like children waiting to be told a story.

* * *

Akera held the map under brilliant lamplight, observing the old, faded pencil drawing with rapt fascination. _Shafts one to twelve, _she thought to herself, tracing the lines with a finger, then triangulating. Six radiating from the main vertical shaft, six connecting them together. A dark wheel.

One by one she picked out interesting features of the mine, racking the faded map for every drop of information it could offer. Both entrances faced westward, towards the distant sea. The main gate closed the entire Mines in, and the security gate divided the entrance hall from the prison. At the northwest edge of the map, a vein of magma ran through area where the rock wall was thinnest, just as Lanoré had said. _One magma flow every half hour, _the Mage recalled. _Perfect security._

The night was still young; it was merely ten o'clock, and the final touches were almost finished. As Akera's eyes formulated the paths they would take through the shafts and the minor tunnels creeping between, something caught her eye.

_What…?_

She glanced back at it. A dotted line, so faint that she had missed it till now—demarcating another shaft. One that branched out of shaft number six…and took a sharp turn right.

She glanced back at the strange line, feeling an awful surge of familiarity. It could well be another decoration, or a fault line in the rock. But that wasn't it. It was too regular, too deliberate, too _artificial_.

Akera traced the right angle with her finger again. The guard's story echoed back to mind, the inevitable connection slowly dawning upon her.

* * *

_first strike_

The mines were situated within the largest mountain of El Nath. This mountain, Mount Taryon, was surrounded by a ring of low foothills, putting it in the perfect position for a coordinated attack. Except that a coordinated attack had never really happened before.

Today, though, that was going to change.

Their foe was laden with manpower—he had so many pawns to spare. On _this_ side, there were none. Everyone was crucial, and everyone would survive through today, unharmed. _If fate will allow it. _There was little room for error, but even space and time are fluid when manipulated in the right way.

Morning had bloomed in its fullest upon the snowy hills. Everyone was in position upon the concealing rises of snow. Down in the valley, the necromancers and guards were on full alert, pacing about in their posts at the gate, ready for the imminent attack.

The shadows were black; the snow was white. The pieces had been arranged, and the game was about to commence.

* * *

"_Turino and Telida: make a hole in the northern mountain face. Be noisy, blow things up—make as huge a racket as you can. Just make sure you catch the guards' attention."_

The pair flew across the snow like twin blackbirds, leaping over rises and down into the last valley before it sank to the base of the Mine mountain. Neither wanting to meet the other's eye, they shot on towards the gleaming mountain, speaking not a word. Around them, snow birds were calling into the morning, the sun peeking over the brilliant edge of El Nath.

Somewhere behind, the three mages were waiting for them. _As huge a racket as you can, _the words came back to Turino over and over as he meditated on what they were to do. Down at the main mine entrance below, the prison guards swarmed like flies, necromancer cloaks fluttering, guard armour gleaming. Again, the Mage's fear returned. And it didn't help that his sister was bent on ignoring him.

They arrived at last at the place where the rock was thinnest, where they would break into the mine. Instantly, he raised his staff—and at the same time, Telida snatched her throwing stars out, readying her hand and her stance.

Then, silence.

"Will you start?" she suddenly asked, sharply.

Turino gave an irritated snarl, rolling his eyes. But there was no time for this bitterness, he recalled. _"Explosion!" _he called. His staff shone, his first strike coming with a boom.

All at once, it began. The instant the flames had bloomed against the mountainside and smoke rose, the sky seemed to break open. Telida screamed, swinging her arm, firing Avengers into the snow. Ice cracked and tumbled down the rocks—they only shifted backwards, resumed their assault, threw everything in their arsenal at the unforgiving layer of rock between them and the Mines.

The unrest had begun at the main entrance. The Fire Poison Mage allowed a grim smile, as he heard the agitated voices rise around them. Guards who had been readying themselves for this moment turned in alarm to find columns of grey smoke ascending over the mountaintop, and quickly they went to their leader for instructions.

Turino swallowed and prayed they had seen his attack, heart pounding all the harder as he readied another spell in his staff. _That's the signal, guys. Start quickly._

_

* * *

_

"_Shirion, Ketara and Zethis: attack the secondary mine entrance. An explosion will be your signal. Depending on whether Turino and Telida succeed or not, there might or might not be many people attacking you. Enter the mine as soon as possible, find a faint line on the ground, and stay behind it at all times."_

The flames cracked into shards as Turino's attack struck the ice surface on the other side of the mountain. All at once, red flashes began to erupt into the sky, tearing the clouds. Shirion glanced at Ketara and Zethis, and noted the anticipation in their eyes—different kinds of anticipation, but all at the core the same.

"Well, as Akera said," he said, glancing once again at the explosions of red in the distance, then down at the unguarded secondary gate beneath. That was their signal. It was time for them to begin their charge.

* * *

_xelion: the draft unfolds_

It was happening, all of a sudden. Explosions on the north-western face of the mountains.

In the cold of the morning, Xelion snorted. _That is about the stupidest distraction anyone could come up with,_ he thought incredulously when his guards turned to him. _And I'm certainly not falling for it._

He was about to give the command for them to stay their ground—when a thought suddenly occurred to him.

_No, they aren't _this _stupid. They know that I won't fall for this "distraction" of theirs. It's simply misdirection. They want me to stay here, thinking I've outsmarted them, while they send an attack force to the only weak region—_

"The secondary entrance!" he yelled, pointing the guards forcefully in its direction, mouth drawn into a thin line. _So you have decided to challenge me, eh? _The necromancer thought, glaring out into the foothills, certain that the enemy was hidden somewhere in them. _Well, I'll make sure you don't try a second time._

* * *

The warriors froze in their tracks, for a great roar had suddenly risen around the three—and as they turned, they gaped. An entire mass of guards was marching towards the secondary entrance at full speed—_forty-odd, _Shirion estimated. _The full force of the Dead Mines._

All at once, terror came flooding into Shirion's throat. As far as they were concerned, their part of the bluff had been foiled. But the job still had to be done, for the plan was the only thing they had. All they could do was hope that Akera and Lanoré had covered this possibility. "Let's go," the Crusader called nervously to the other two. Ketara nodded profusely, and Zethis dipped his head once. Then the three raced across the remaining distance, snowy light glinting on their raised weapons.

* * *

Akera glanced to her left; flames and smoke were rising in the north. She glanced right, and saw that the second entrance was in chaos. "Lanoré," the Fire Poison Mage whispered, pointing at the mass of guards gathered around the open gateway some distance away.

"Excellent," she responded. "They took the bait—hook, line and sinker."

The woman smiled, brushing out her miraculously shiny hair with a smile. It had been treated with an extra dose of Shora's Herbal Conditioner that morning, and gleamed like gold in the sun. In Akera's pocket, the crystals were jangling, and beside her, Clynine had her staff high in hand. Fire, Ice, Light. A magic triangle.

"Are you certain about this?" Akera asked again with a harrowed voice, taking apprehensive glances down the hillside in both directions.

"It's called 'synergy', Akera. He may be just as smart as either of us—but if we work together, we'll create more than double of what _he _does. And it's the only way to fulfill all objectives. You _know _it."

Nodding, the Fire Poison Mage allowed her gaze to return to the circular valley. Somewhere close by, red fire was leaping between the peaks, melting snow and cracking rocks. Somewhere further, the warriors were about to take on forty guards, alone.

Everything boiled down to the three on the hill, on whom the heart of the deception lay. It was time to tip the scales, time to turn the winds. They glanced at each other for comfort—then, turning to the gates beneath, they entered the fray.

* * *

With a final flash of thunder, the snow fell inwards to reveal a massive hole, stark black in the whiteness.

"Half an hour," she whispered to herself as she leapt and landed upon the mine floor within, flickering torchlight greeting her vision. Turino followed her in, rather clumsily.

They were currently in shaft eight, according to Akera. Telida took a moment more to survey the area, raising her face to the stale air—before taking off like a whirlwind. _Right, left, right, right, left, left, _she repeated to herself, making the turnings as they came_._

She burst into the prison shaft. There were moans and calls from the prisoners inside cages as she entered and passed, cries for water and food and _real light_. She ignored them, ignored the sweat streaming down her back, sprinting down the flickering shaft as if Time Itself were chasing her.

The instant the thief located the narrow corridor in the wall, she turned again. The ceiling fell suddenly and the stalactites dripped from above—still unharmed, unlike the larger shafts outside—and she slipped inside. The sharp-eyed thief quickly took in the new environment. It was a part of an ancient cave system, Akera had told them. Bending low beneath the glimmering spikes, she dashed on, gasping and panting as sweat dripped from her chin and soaked into her blouse. Faintly Telida could hear her brother's footsteps behind, those despicable footsteps of someone too proud to admit to his inferiority. Who couldn't even _keep up_.

Time was gaining pace. The walls rushed by in a series of monochromatic rainbows, all the same orange and black in the hard torchlight, burnt into relief all around her. On she raced, the stalagmites never tripping her, however close they grew. She soared on through the coldly warm rays, flinging sweat to the wind, seeking out in the distance the exit from this dark prison of minerals and spikes.

Finally it came. Though the air was stale outside, the Hermit could almost taste its freshness, compared to the tiny passageway she had just passed through. Ever sure-footed, she whirled left, and soared down the path, searching, searching…

With a gasp, she came to a stop, darkness flashing into her vision.

_Oh—Master of Fate…_

This was the entrance to the thirteenth shaft—a gaping black mouth with stalactite-stalagmite teeth, even the light of the torches around her unable to penetrate further than the rim. All at once, dark coldness tumbled down upon her shoulders, eating away at her determination like black worms.

_I'm afraid._

Telida flexed her fingers, but they were soulless. The realization made her mind reel—and yet she could only prove it truer and truer, the longer she gazed into the shadows. Suddenly, her feet would not budge. They were frozen, by the ice of terror, a small voice begging to flee.

_No. I can't do this._

Footsteps appeared behind her as she stared on. Within Telida's wintry silence, Turino came to a halt, panting. "Lida," he gasped. "This—is it, isn't it?"

For a minute they stared into the shaft mouth. Something in the blackness kept telling her, over and over—no matter how she ran, she would never escape the darkness alive.

"I'm—afraid," she whispered, trying not to meet her brother's gaze. "I'm scared, Turino. I'm really—scared."

The defiant part of her brain was instantly reprimanding her. _Don't show your weakness to him! _It bereaved. Even now the fathoms of hopelessness were deepening like ocean tides, tears welling in her dark eyes. _He'll use this against you. He'll leave you behind. You just gave him the perfect chance to _hurt you_—_

Then, the Hermit felt a hand fall upon her shoulder. Warm and cold, firm yet trembling.

"No, Lida," whispered Turino's voice. "You're _not_ afraid. You aren't, because you're _Telida_."

The girl shook her head, shoulders drooping. "I don't want to screw it up," she answered, turning away, her tears running at last, falling into the stony dust at her feet. "I don't want everything to fail…because of me."

Then, something happened, something that would stay with Telida for the rest of her life.

There in the black shadows between the torches, Turino took her in an embrace. "Don't worry, Lida!" he whispered back, sounding suddenly so vulnerable, so powerful. "I'll be there too, okay?"

Telida's breath left her.

_Ketara said the same thing. The exact same thing._

As her brother drew away, Telida struggled to still her confusion—finding no answer.

_I don't understand. I don't understand._

She turned back to face the darkness, her world shivering at the seams. "Our time is running," she replied, steeling herself though nothing made sense to her. "Let's go."

He smiled at her again, upon the ledge between firelight and shadow. That smile pierced her heart deeper than the sky. Suddenly, she had realized that her life was just a huge mess. Her eyes lingered upon her twin brother's pale face, the face of the one who had come into the world at the same moment as she had.

_I don't understand, Rino. I don't get it. I _made _you hate me. I sealed our hatred, irrevocably._

There was a flash of movement—and Turino vanished into the unforgiving darkness. Telida cried out in shock, staring into the place where he had disappeared.

But then she realized that _this _was what she had come to do.

Telida closed her eyes. And, arbitrarily estimating the distance to the ground, she jumped.

* * *

"_Find a line on the ground, and stay behind it at all times."_

Akera's fierce warning had stuck with Shirion. He had found the "line", faint as it was—and throughout the battle, he had taken care to stay behind it, often warning the other two to do so as well.

Three against forty. Oftentimes, the Crusader would find attacks flying in from all directions—and only with the sheerest depths of his perseverance had he managed to hold them off. Valiantly the three warriors had battled, charging and striking with flaming spirits, struggling against twenty guards and twenty necromancers with the little they had.

For three people, they had done a good job. Yet it wasn't enough. During its course, the three had been separated, hopelessly, in the sea of men. Somewhere beyond the thick of shouts and slam of weapons and crackle of red lightning, Shirion could see his comrades—tired, faltering. He too, was weakening. For every strike, he paid with a hundred bruises, a burn in the arm, another drop of blood. If he was to stand a chance, he would need to find extra power, somehow—

_Extra power! _He gasped as he swung again. _Why didn't I consider it earlier?_

Freezing, he closed his eyes, finding the fingers of his soul upon that glowing core somewhere in his heart. An innate source of power, which had nothing to do with his training, or with Dances with Balrog's skill books. It shone now within his grip as he drew it out, expanding outwards through his every fibre.

Two flashes. Somewhere else, too, Shirion felt as if the same power had awakened outside of him. And he just managed a fleeting glimpse of them—Zethis and Ketara, _their _eyes glowing a brilliant gold, like stars, as if _his _power had awakened _theirs._

_Zethis? Ketara? How—_

But he lacked the time to ponder. Already, five guards had launched themselves upon him. New strength was raging through his veins—and for the first time today, he smiled. Flames streamed from his hands, where barely any power had once pooled. With unnerving ease he flicked his shining sword, smiling and slicing a guard's helmet in two, beheading him before he could retaliate.

At the sight of spattering blood, everything awakened.

Shirion's smile turned into a grin. He dodged between streams of lightning, for they were suddenly so _slow—_between rainbows of nothing and everything, slicing and hacking like a saw through a hedge of thorns. _Towards the center. _Constantly, the words came back—_behind the line, behind the line_—and he followed the command, battling as if his spirit had escaped his body and now fought beside him. _Towards the center._

Through the flurry of shadows he burst. His heart swelled when he saw the other two already there, battling like ripples across water. Their eyes burnt, and their weapons shot through with terrifying force as they snipped and burnt armour and robes, deflecting blows as easily as flies.

Shirion gave a cry as he rejoined them. They were together, again—_at the center_. They stood back to back, facing their attackers—and between them there was not a drop of fear.

"Welcome back, Shirion!" Ketara exclaimed with a grin, readying his next charge. "Your eyes are glowing too!"

He gave a short laugh, before their effortless battle resumed.

* * *

It took about ten minutes for Xelion to realize that something was wrong.

There were only three attackers. _Three_. Simple reasoning yielded the indisputable fact that this job was far too important to be placed in the hands of three people.

He had assumed, from the start, that the three warriors were the enemy's main attack force. But that wasn't it, he had suddenly realised. All this while, he had been dancing into a lie. _This,_ too, was a distraction. The main force was _somewhere else_—approaching the main entrance right now, happily finding it unguarded. Cursing, Xelion whirled around and raced towards the main gate, snow flying in his wake.

They had intended for this to happen, all along. And he had taken the bait. Hook, line and sinker.

_Well, you have not won this yet! _His thoughts were a whirl. _You play the game well. And I would love to meet you in person, should you not perish today._

But the great necromancer knew that, suddenly, he was losing. The weathervane had swung around; the winds were whipping, throwing shards of ice in his face. And he realized, too, that resignation would be the fastest, simplest escape. _Just knock your king down, and let it be done. Submit. Concede._

Then, _no, _he told himself. _I don't _resign_. I'll turn the tables again, just as a master player would. There's a way. _

_There's _always _a way._

_And there is almost no time. _His quick mind instantly took to the task—searching in the vast pool of ideas he always had, narrowing down mercilessly on the possibilities, discarding ideas—before fishing something out. _An answer._

A grin rose to Xelion's face.

Snatching his staff from his belt, his footsteps quickening with cruel confidence. There would be no escape from _this_ trap. And unless his opponent was an inhuman super-genius with split-second mental reflexes or a precognitive ability, none of his foes would leave the Dead Mines today.

* * *

_This is the only way, the only way to do all we sought to do. It doesn't matter that a millimeter is the distance between success and failure. It doesn't matter, because there will be no other chances._

Lanoré whirled to face the south. Already, the black figure soared across the snow towards them, staff glimmering in his hand. She glanced back briefly in the direction Akera had left for the mines, praying silently for her. Then, upon the snow road, Lanoré and Clynine turned.

"Clynine," the Archmage called to her assistant. "You can do this."

Shivering, the Cleric nodded, gripping her staff tighter—stepping up to the fore. _I am so proud of you, _Lanoré thought briefly with a smile as the dark figure closed in. _Only sixteen, and already so much braver than I ever was._

The black cloaks of death fluttered about Xelion's feet as he swept over the snow, staff glowing blood-red. His face was pale as the snow around him; from here it gave him the appearance of a masked man. Fierce grey eyes flashed against his pallid complexion.

And finally they stood face to face—king of the shadows, queen of the snow.

"Ah, so I see!" The man's grin was crazed and delighted. "The Silver Fang herself! I should have guessed so!"

"It's you, Xelion," she replied, blue eyes burning. And though Lanoré's gaze was upon the necromancer, her attention was on Clynine. _Distract him, _her mind commanded adamantly. _Buy her time. Don't let him see her. _She faked a smile at Xelion. "I've wanted to meet you for quite a while now."

"Likewise, you crafty little creature," the necromancer spat the words out, his smile dangerously poisonous. "So, what is your next move?"

"Ah, I will dazzle you," Lanoré responded, a genuine smile rising to her lips.

"I'm not easily impressed," he replied, smirking and pacing about.

"But do keep your eyes open, Xelion."

He began to laugh—

And that was the moment when Clynine let go. Arrows of light soared straight forward, into his eyes—and Xelion's laugh instantaneously turned into a yell of alarm. _"In the Spirit's name!" _His cry died as he stumbled blindly through the snow, a bat in daylight.

Lanoré and Clynine were upon the winds in no time—and soon, they entered the shadows and rejoined Akera in the Mines. "Done with the mechanics and the crystals yet?" the Archmage asked Akera briskly as they raced down the corridors, into the prison. All around them, dying prisoners groaned and clawed at the relentless bars. The gauntness of their faces brought pangs of recollection, and quickly the woman blinked the thoughts away.

"Just some trigonometry; it wasn't too hard," Akera replied. The woman nodded. And now as she took a final glance around, breathing steadily, she readied herself for what were to be the hardest five minutes of her life.

Now, within these five mere minutes of time, she would decide the fate of the Mines, the Spear, the world.

Within these five minutes, she would either secure victory, or die.

_Risking the queen for checkmate._

She ran her fingers through her conditioned hair nervously, praying that all her theories—_their _theories—were correct.

Akera whirled around at the distant sound of footsteps. "He's coming," she whispered. "Quick, Lanoré. End of the corridor, where I put the yellow pebble." Nodding, Lanoré raced past the crying prisoners and their iron cages to her place, Clynine and Akera slipping into the shadows of an alcove.

* * *

The glares in Xelion's vision finally faded away, and now he was twice as furious as before. _They _had long vanished. _Stupid me! Caught off guard again! _He took off immediately towards the only place they could have gone—the Mines.

The Dead Mines had two entrances. And at each entrance was a pair of iron gates—a main gate at the snow's edge, for keeping the cold out—and a security gate further in, used to secure the prison whenever a prisoner was on the loose inside. This security gate was positioned such that it only locked prisoners in when shut, and all guards were still free to enter and exit the Mines. All four gates were controlled by a complex set of mechanisms, which, together, had ensured that only two prisoners had ever broken free from the Mines.

Through the main gate the necromancer strode now, shadows falling over him as he left the snows and entered the dark entrance hall. In the walls, the corridors towards the guards dormitories were black and motionless. _No one. _He then proceeded to walk on. Past the security gate, into the prison.

In his throat, he felt a surge of triumph.

There stood Lanoré, at the far end of the prison corridor, her distant figure recognizable even from here. Laughing, the necromancer allowed his voice to echo through the tunnel.

"Well, well. Why has your little friend abandoned you?"

Xelion advanced through the shadows with a grin. The necromancer knew fully well that at any moment, something could go wrong with his plan. But how much, truly, _could _go wrong? This was his prison, his home. She was in a place she had never been before. He knew all the rules. She knew nothing. Only _he _could open the gates of the prison. Only _he _knew every secret, every passageway.

And only _he _knew this: A single lever was the key to the whole of the Dead Mines. The lever that controlled the two security gates. Its primary function was to prevent a loose prisoner from escaping the Mines, by staying unforgivably in place until the lever was pulled again. But it could work in _other _ways.

Just one lever pull, and everyone inside the prison would be trapped indefinitely—with no food, no drink, no contact with the outside.

It didn't matter anymore, what happened within the mines. All he had to do was pull the lever while Lanoré was still inside.

Storing this away in his mind, he raised his gaze once more. "Lanoré," the dark magician proceeded to acknowledge the Archmage's presence. For the first time, he noted the shimmering ice shield before her. "Now what would _this _be?"

"Oh, that. I have a bargain to make," Lanoré replied calmly. "This here is an ice mirror, invented and patented by yours truly. You can kill me, by shooting through this ice shield and smashing it with enough force to break me. But in doing so, your attack will be reflected in all directions—and the prison gates, receiving your magic, will be unlocked."

"To design such a device takes skill," the man murmured, stroking his chin as his eyes wandered across the prison walls. It was ridiculous, yes—but he was actually considering her offer. It _would _simplify matters…

But in that moment—by luck or by chance—Xelion's eyes slipped to the gleaming vein of silver in the ceiling above. Shining, brilliant silver.

And suddenly, another ingenious idea sprang to mind.

"I take your offer," the necromancer answered, smiling. "You die, and the prisoners go free."

"Go ahead. I'm ready."

And with that, Xelion casually raised his staff, directing his attention towards the sliver of moonlight above, though his eyes and staff were pointed as Lanoré's heart. He calculated the angle, the force. His staff crackled red and black. Carefully, he narrowed his eyes on the woman's ice shield, chanting…

And in the final moment, as the spell was about to burst forth, he swung it upwards.

Lanoré gasped. From that moment, Time began to _resist, _slowing as if it were folding upon itself. Gradually, her eyes turned upwards, following the bolt's sure course through the dark air—as it struck the bright silver above, ricocheted with a powerful _ping—_

_And shot straight into her head._

Everything rushed back. Time unfolded.

There was an explosion of red and black light. Without a sound, Lanoré collapsed against the wall, lips parted, eyes fading.

_Checkmate._

The realization was so stingingly sudden that Xelion took a minute to believe it.

As his gaze slipped over the Archmage's eyelids, the necromancer had a momentary, sickening feeling that _somehow, _she had defied death—and that she was still awake, waiting to pounce.

_No one survives a direct attack like that, _he reassured himself, stumbling dizzily forward. _It hit her. Her head. There is no way she could have lived through it._

The necromancer's footsteps were silent and echoing, and around him the cries of the prisoners rose like the songs of ghosts. They mourned and sobbed, but he had learnt long ago to block those calls out. Forward, one step after another, like a broken machine. The shadows tightened with every second, bowing to his miraculous deed, bending at his fingers.

The cold lines of the stone wall were clear in his vision. He finally allowed himself to grin. Lanoré was motionless; no breath slipped through her lips. He struck the useless ice shield with his staff, and it shattered in an explosion of white and grey. Then, he reached out to grab her neck, lifting her so that her deathly pale face was level with his. A sneer twisted his lips.

"Not so _great _after all, eh?" he exclaimed haughtily. "For a moment there, I actually feared you had somehow defied death!"

His smile widened…

…Then, those brilliant, burning sapphire eyes flew open.

"You feared right, Xelion."

The cold face of Lanoré smiled back.

He only vaguely felt the coldness of the Archmage's Blade Staff pressed against his neck, as he lost grip of _everything_. She had escaped. She was inhuman. He was powerless against her. Trembling violently, he released his grip, bowing his head beneath the sheerness of her gaze—forcing his brain to work, for that very last opportunity to escape from this _demon_.

_There must be a way. There's always a way…_

He made a passing glance in the direction of the gates, the lever—

—and drew in a breath.

"Now, we can take this easy, can't we?" Xelion murmured, suddenly realizing that he had a last, glimmering chance. He backed away in mock fear. _Misdirection. _It hinged on that now. _Misdirection. Sleight of hand. _His heart was a rolling drum.

"Why, of course we can, for a _charge_," Lanoré replied as she advanced, staff crackling. He felt the static tug at the hairs on his neck.

_She's falling for it. _He stepped backwards. Closer, closer to the gate.

_The lever._

"State your price."

Slowly, they traversed the length of the corridor, Lanoré advancing, Xelion backing away. She made her request, that he free the prisoners, again—a request he refused. But still she kept her blade staff raised, and still he crept backwards, closer, closer…_closer…_

"But what harm is there in doing so?" the woman tried to reason.

"I'll lose my job—and my head."

_Almost there, _his mind fed him the information, his black heart throbbing in his ears. He felt as if it might explode as he arrived at the gates, and crossed the threshold.

Silently, slowly, he extended a hand to his left.

"You'll lose your job _and _your head, if you don't free them for me," the blonde woman growled, jabbing the staff closer. But she was still _on the other side_. Just across the line. _Just._

Xelion's hand shook, as his fingers closed around the lever handle. In this single moment, he suddenly faced the jarring, terrifying notion—that Lanoré's life was resting upon his fingertips. That he could end her, now and forever.

Before him, the Archmage's eyes were narrowed and dark. "You have already lost, can you not see that?" she asked.

Hearing those words, Xelion finally let himself smile.

"No, I don't think so."

And he pulled.

All around the necromancer, there was a rush of shadows, a resonant clang—and Lanoré's face vanished from his world, forever.

* * *

The instant the gate had shut, Lanoré threw her head back, breathed deep, and began to laugh like a madwoman.

"Really, I amaze myself sometimes!" she cried. "He completely ate it up!"

"The most beautiful act I've ever seen," Akera agreed, appearing from the alcove with Clynine.

Together, the three sped down the corridor again. "Mistress—how did you do that?" Clynine exclaimed from between the two, as Akera knelt and searched the floor for something. "The black bolt—it _hit _you! Why aren't you hurt?"

Lanoré smiled. "The secret, of course, was the hair conditioner," the Ice Lightning Archmage replied. "It was all a terrific plan that Akera came up with. She positioned me such that Xelion would inevitably see the silver, and naturally hit me from above."

"And the—the hair conditioner saved your life?"

This time, the Fire Poison Mage stepped in. "Not the conditioner, so much as the shininess it causes," Akera explained. "Dark magic works in the same way as light, its inverse. If an object is reflective enough, it won't be affected. So that attack was really a complete waste of his time. But what we _did _manage to do was—"

Akera unfolded her fingers, to reveal a sparkling black crystal in her palm. "One of Chief Tatamo's gifts," she explained. "A vampire crystal. I embedded it in the floor, right where the scattered particles of Xelion's beam would hit. Now it's full of his magic."

Clynine's mouth opened, slowly. "And—you're going to use it to unlock the gates!" she squealed, grinning. "Pure genius!"

Both mages turned. "I know," they said in unison.

* * *

There was a groan deep in the ground.

A colossal groan, deeper than the wrath of the earth. Faint, but _growing_.

And then there was a scream, a screech of metal, and the great gate came tumbling from the hole in the ceiling, so swift that the guards beneath barely had a moment to notice before it crashed down, upon their heads and their wide eyes.

Bones snapped everywhere. Blood shot across the ground in vivid streaks, guts and muscles and brains mingling in sanguine pools beneath the fallen gate, crushed deep into the dirt.

Zethis made a queasy sound. All three warriors leapt away in surprise, glancing at each other, at the bodies, and at each other again.

"Behind the line," Shirion murmured, noticing that the gate had fallen right where the line used to be. "No wonder."

Then, turning, the three noticed the five remaining guards.

Before the armoured men had even had the chance to see the incoming attacks, all five had been slaughtered—either by a sword or spear thrust through the heart, or a massive bash on the head. The instant the last foe had fallen, all three underwent a simultaneous energy drain. The glow in their eyes subsided, and their power vanished like the tide drawing away from the shore.

"Wooh…I feel weird…" Ketara murmured with a smile, eyelids drooping as the light died and he collapsed against the wall.

Shirion sighed involuntarily. "Well, _that's _ended," he said. "Now for the last part. We must get to shaft eight as soon as possible."

"Easier said than done," Zethis replied, shoulders sagging. Ketara nodded. Nonetheless, the Crusader knew he could spare them no mercy. So, grabbing their arms, he dragged them away with whatever strength was left in him.

* * *

"Quick, quick!" Akera constantly reminded the prisoners as they crawled from their cells. Repeatedly, she glanced at the end of the corridor, where a door opened into the shaft.

_Ten minutes. Ten minutes, and the window closes._

"Let's go," Lanoré exclaimed as she touched the crystal to the gate and the last prisoner was freed. Turning, she commanded the entire crowd of a hundred with her powerful voice, taking the lead, racing towards the main shaft.

It took no more words. The entire crowd followed like a flock of sheep, their chatter like thunder—all desperate for this final chance to escape the Mines and the death they had always believed inevitable.

"Thank you, Lady Lanoré!" cried a prisoner as he ran on behind the trio, his voice full of tears and full of laughter. "If I could, I'd give you my entire _fortune_ for this!"

"No need," Lanoré responded simply. "Your freedom _is _the reward."

The grey walls rushed onwards, until they abruptly opened into the great cathedral of the main shaft, light falling away into a burning darkness far beneath. The rope lift was swinging, and the entire group came to a halt beside it.

"Fear not, my people!" the Archmage cried. "This is our final flight. Our final leg to freedom!"

She paced forward, eyes shining in the flames—eyes of a mastermind, eyes of a queen. "But we must make haste. We have ten minutes—ten minutes to move there. But take faith, my people! The Goddess will take us upon her wings and speed us to the light. Quick, let's go!"

There was a resounding cry, one that echoed down and up the main shaft like a deity's song. Twelve prisoners rushed onto the lift at her command—and once they were ready, the gate was closed, the ropes tugged—and it ascended. They watched intently, anxiously from beneath, breaths bated, as the passengers ran out of the lift and along the precarious ledge into shaft eight. Twelve by twelve they went, the numbers below dwindling.

"Last ride!" Finally, Clynine gave the call as the final ten—the three mages included—boarded the lift, and the people above began to tug on the pulley system as fast as their muscles would allow.

"_Pull!" _They heard the communal cry from above—a system, a tribe, a world. _"Pull!" _The lift rose, soaring to the ledge above.

And suddenly, they were flying down shaft eight. The lights turned into lines and the walls melted into each other as they ran, swifts and swallows riding the gales of the mountains they all knew, deep in their souls.

_El Nath, our home. Our freedom. Our love._

Lanoré gave a call as they arrived at the vast hole in the wall—the hole that the twins had smashed for them. Light streamed in, mingling with torchlight—the pure with the tainted. The prisoners cried with joy, at the snowy light they had lost.

"Return!" Lanoré cried, and they instantly began to scramble through the hole in tides. "Return to safety!"

The lava flow was due in less than a minute, she suddenly recalled. Forty seconds.

And they were a people fighting to go home_—_after days, weeks, _years _of imprisonment. They were the maddest, most desperate children in the world…

Her heart stopped.

The rock was groaning, burning—a vast monster crawled in the walls…

Only six prisoners left, ascending clumsily, their legs swinging in midair.

A devil, creeping along an adjacent passageway, snarling and snapping and ready to _kill._

_No, no, _no_! They won't. They _won't_—_

Lanoré's heart was screaming tears of blood. She pleaded with the Goddess, with the deities of fire and ice. Still the devil scraped its inevitable way through the rocks. Closer, closer, like the omnipresent thundering of drums.

She stared, crying silently.

The stones burnt, _melted. _The walls blazed orange, as the tube within burned, crumbling with the heat.

Mistily, vaguely, Lanoré saw in flashes what happened after that. She cried out, cried one name after another—knocked her two friends out of the way, raced into the flames, burned in them—and in their darkness she flung a powerful _"Ice Strike" _towards the streams of light…

A divine wall of ice erupted from Lanoré's fingers, swelling and spiking in swift crystalline carpets, blooming and extinguishing the entire corridor of torches, turning the path into a gleaming tunnel of icicles. And the lava curled outwards at Akera's fingers, like tentacles—shooting in sun-rays out of the hole, spurting onto frozen walls and hardening in dark smudges. The ice began to melt, and water showered upon them like rain, steam flowering through the air like cotton…

And it was the steam that took their lives. One by one, the prisoners collapsed from the light with dimming eyes, gasping for another breath, another breath. Lava gushed in in burning streams, cracking the ice, embalming them gently in darkness. Flooding their open mouths, burning their teeth.

Like the last trickle of summer, the red flow hardened to coldness. Everywhere, there was nothing but ash and snow—gleaming, white snow. The torches were lifeless.

In the silence, Lanoré leant against the icy wall, sobbing softly.

"I let them die," she gasped. "They trusted me. I took them here. I was too proud."

"No one knew this would happen," Akera responded, touching her arm, glancing up at the now-sealed hole. "It was a mistake. It wasn't you. And besides, _this _death was better than any death they could have seen in the Mines."

Lanoré blinked and straightened to her full height, taking comfort in the young woman's words. "We must see this through," she said, glaring with determination into the distance. "This isn't the end. There's another way."

* * *

_telida: open_

Suddenly, eternities of darkness were above, beneath, all around—oppressive, pure, terrible.

In the darkness, Telida groped about for handhold—and felt a nest of worms beneath her fingers. A shriek ripped itself from her throat as she leapt away, struggling to hold her sobs in.

_It's worse than the guard described it. So much…worse._

"T-Turino," she whispered desperately. "Turino…where are you?"

A breath echoed through the hollow shadows. "Here," his voice was trembling. "We must go." Swallowing, the thief heard the gentle footfalls of her brother, somewhere far ahead—and gripping the walls, she stumbled after.

An inkling of a voice came, just slightly, curling around her neck.

_Telida…we want you…_

Gasping, the Hermit sped to a desperate dash, her breaths broken like the bones on the floor. Falling again and again, she chased—but Turino was ahead, always ahead. Despair chanted through her veins, shredded whispers and screams of fragmented souls. Souls of thousands of miners, prisoners—dead, dead, dead.

And somewhere deep within, there lay a throbbing mass of tentacles—questing for her_._

…_Telida…we are _waiting_._

Turino's footsteps were a short way ahead, her compass. Closing her eyes, she followed—traced the vanishing rope. But they didn't depart, only grew. Cold, cold tentacles, snatching hungrily at her.

_We want you. Want your heart and teeth._

Somewhere far away…the clock of hell began to tick, faster.

_Tick._

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Telida felt her breaths become shards. "No," she whispered.

But they listened not. _"You are beautiful," _they cried tauntingly in reply—

And then…she felt it. A seam _appeared _in her neck. A seam of blood and sinew, unzipping through her skin. She could see it, yet she couldn't—a phantom. A claw, slicing down across her skin…slitting her in two.

She stumbled into the stones, broke herself—and the world screamed like the clocks.

"_HELP!"_

Tears, tears and tentacles choked her as she shrieked for help, unfolding outwards. Her body was in pieces, her bones and vessels lying open to be devoured by chattering teeth. Her heart was on the floor, and it struggled for its next shuddering throb, crawling bloodied across the stones, towards the _skulls _that called and promised comfort. She saw spurts and flashes of blood everywhere as it crept on black trails—dark words scrawled across the ground.

"_Sleep", _the letters read. _Sleep. _Her body was an open treasure chest.

"Stop! _Stop, please!_"

…_Telida…we want your face in our arms…_

"PLEASE!" Her thoughts suddenly turned to her last lifeline. _"Turino—Turino!"_

The name forced themselves through her frozen lips. Silent rhythms. Blood spewing from her open neck, Telida fell to her knees in the rot, legs and lips bleeding, sobbing and shrieking wretchedly in the tangles of veins around her. Dark hearts were beating all around like little machines, in mechanical synchrony with hers. Hearts of those who had fallen before her.

_No question, no answer. No start, no end. A chain, running in loops forever._

…_you are _beautiful_, Telida! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!_

Only a scream, a ticking clock-heart. Their fingers were cold and groping, as they began to tear her skull from her neck.

_Where are you? _Her brain begged, crumbling at _their _frozen touch, leaving her skull empty_._

_Turino…Ketara…Akera…Ralinn…Raydan, where are you…?_

_you…?_

…_?_

Suddenly, an answer.

"_Telida!"_

A shaft of untouchable brilliance suddenly pierced through the blackness. A knife of light. A cry from the distance, chasing her deep into the abyss.

She raised her head with tearful, ruptured eyes. It was another rope, a thin silver rope being tossed towards her, through the grinning shadows.

"Turino," she gasped hoarsely again, voice echoing in the emptiness, chest heaving with laboured breaths. In the dark, she felt the distant warmth glowing upon her skin—an arm about her shoulders, a hand upon her wrist.

_Ever so warm, growing still…growing still._

The girl gasped softly, as the darkness began to melt away around her, and more things began to appear in her world. She felt warm tears touch her fingers, mingling with her own. The screeches of the skulls were suddenly desperate and cacophonous—but those strong arms came to embrace her tightly, shielding the voices away.

"Lida, I'm—here." Turino's gentle voice resounded through everything else, sobbing and shaking over her shoulder. "We'll get out of this alive, Lida—I promise."

_You came back for me._

And all she saw, in the ethereal, illusory flames, was the brother she abhorred more than death itself.

"I'm always here, Lida," he whispered in her ear, defying the shadows like a faint firebrand. "I won't everlet you get hurt." His arms, they were so tight around her—so tight, and so strong with love.

A magical girdle, protecting her heart—as they stumbled through the darkness like lost orphans, away from the ropes of death.

* * *

Their breaths were echoing close, and Telida knew at once that they had arrived. Quickly, her fingers extended—and leapt away when they met a surface pockmarked with a thousand holes. _Like a honeycomb. _"The wall."

Beside her, she heard the sound of Turino drawing his staff, and she followed suit, smiling shakily. The throwing stars were cold, hard, and trustworthy in her fingers. They remembered the strength and magic of so many years.

"Give it everything," the Hermit's brother whispered. "Let's finish this fast."

She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see.

"_EXPLOSION!"_

"_AVENGER!"_

They saw no light—only heard a massive boom, and the grumble of breaking rock before them. Telida felt the shower of dust as she leapt away, Turino snatching her arm.

The rubble thundered to the ground, taking a minute to subside—and the instant it had, Telida reached quickly for her belt, finding the two Spear parts, Time and Life. They were singing desperately into her hands, pulling her towards the third part, like needles to a powerful magnet, a force more ancient and divine than magic itself.

_Darkness! Darkness; he is here! Take us to him!_

Her feet stumbled into the dust. Her hand reached into the rubble, following the gentle, violent tug of the Shaft and Spearhead. Together.

Among the broken rocks, her fingers closed around something small, cold, and divinely round—sending tendrils of blackness into her skin.

"I have it," the Hermit whispered.

"Great, now lets' get out of here," Turino's response was impatient yet hopeful. Together they turned to face the distant scent of fresh air, a scent piercing through the putrid warmth like a narrow blade of light. Together they swept forward, believing and certain at last.

While they ran, Telida fitted the three parts of the Spear together—Time, Life and Darkness. Between her palms, the weapon began to vibrate like the thrum of cicada wings, flaring red-hot and divinely bright in her fingers.

And finally, the millennium-old shadows lifted. Firelight bloomed to life in the distance: it was the most beautiful, brilliant light they had ever seen in their lives.

* * *

_joining paths_

It was along the ledge, on the way out, that the three mages were reunited with the three warriors. In a mass of exclamations, everyone came to a stop, conversations instantly beginning as the two sides caught up with each other.

"Shirion!" exclaimed Akera, smiling foolishly as she approached. But the Crusader ignored her, for there were more pressing matters abound.

"Lanoré," he said urgently to the Archmage, who was conversing with Ketara. "Aren't we supposed to be in—" He pointed.

Lanoré shook her head, turning momentarily from the Dragon Knight. "It's closed," she answered. "But I know another path. Let us hurry." Her eyes darted over the ledge. At once, the three warriors gave exclamations of shock.

Lanoré nodded, striding purposefully towards the lift, the rest trailing nervously after. They were trembling, yet no one dared to disrupt the Archmage's powerful deliberation.

Then, in the flickers of fire, a question broke the silence.

"But what about Telida and Turino?" It was Ketara, his voice laden with the weight of his panic.

At that, the entire group came to a jarring halt.

* * *

_telida: shut_

The corridor of blackness rushed to an end, the distant light swelling to a tantalizing brilliance in their blinded eyes. Telida gave a cry, and Turino gasped exhaustedly in response. Thirsty and burnt by the tongues of darkness, the twins stumbled along, panting and crying with delirium, supporting each other with strong arms so neither would fall.

Brother and sister. Hated and loved.

_Just a short way more, _they shared the hope and the blood in their veins. _We're almost there._

As they approached, the crack opened out, wider and wider, like a fire lily blooming. Still they stumbled and laboured forward, away from the skulls, away from nonexistent horrors, into the embrace of light. Gradually, the corridor narrowed like a cone, the ceiling closing in on the floor. Their walk lowered to a gentle stoop, and soon to a crawl.

Then, the waves of firelight flew open. They had arrived at exit. The two gazed down, expired, into the burning pit far below, its full glory lighting their pale faces.

"We're here," Turino whispered, pulling his sister close, resting his cheek against her shoulder. Beside him, withdrawn and cold, she felt her confusion grow deeper.

_I've hated him so long. Yet he loves me still._

_Why…?_

Then her thoughts were interrupted, when a brilliant gleam made her look up. And she gasped in shock—a lift had swung into view, some way above. Its bars and handles were glinting in the flames, and as Telida inched further to look, she realized who was on board—

A smile lit her face, the widest smile she had ever smiled. _"Here!" _she cried, waving a hand to the lift, feeling a surge of tears attack her. From beyond the lift railings, Ketara was the first to recognize her voice—and he whirled around in surprise, shouting her name and waving back.

"Telida! There is a ledge beneath you," Lanoré called excitedly. "It's about five feet down—"

With a yell of wonderful victory, she leapt from the hole, landing on the ledge with graceful ease. But this time, instead of taking off, she found her gaze leaping back to her brother above.

"Rino!" she called. "It's safe, Rino! Come here!"

"But I—I—"

"Jump! _Jump! _I made it; you can too! Unless you're going to admit defeat _now_?"

And he did.

A second later, he was on his knees beside her, moaning from the pain. But he was alive and well.

Telida smile again, teasing her brother before dashing away.

* * *

_turino: into the mists_

"Lida! Oh, Goddess, you're _here!" _Ketara almost instantly attacked the Hermit with a huge bear hug. As the Dragon Knight came upon her with his arms outstretched, she gasped before being engulfed by his embrace. As the lift continued to sway through its descent, the warriors' eyes shone with joy.

"Will you stop all the mushiness already?" Turino muttered. He had recovered from his trip through the thirteenth shaft, and as far as he knew, all was back to normal.

"Will you leave me alone?" Telida spat back.

Well, _she _was certainly back to normal. Turino sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the railings. With a pang in his heart, he watched as Shirion gazed into the flames, and Akera leant close to him.

_Akera…Telida…_

_I don't get it. I swore to abandon love._

He blinked, and saw the smile upon the white-haired Mage's lips—a smile he desired, a smile meant for someone else. Again he was seized by heartache.

_I love her. I love Akera._

Then he looked up, again. He saw how the joy in her blue eyes was all for the Crusader—him only. Her heart had already been given, and no other person would ever claim it.

In the flickering flames, Turino felt himself drift away—out of the frame of her vision, out into the unknowns—a ship in the mists, lost forever.

* * *

_clynine: burning away_

It was all so familiar. The thought first struck Clynine as they left the lift, and raced along the blazing corridor to the Altar. The blazing rocks, the pressing heat, the swelling tension—it was all—_so—familiar_.

Around her, her seven companions were hushed. The crackle of fire and gurgle of unseen magma urged them on.

If anything could scour a sin from a heart, it was these flames. There were faces within the magma; fire spirits with crackling jaws, jeweled crowns, and empty everlasting eyes. Silently they watched, as the group of eight crossed the vast, burning pathway, heading towards the great god, the hidden door—_certain death_. Fearless.

_How strange, _they whispered among themselves. _So strange, and yet I feel they have something to share._

The fire carved holes into the Cleric's vision, as the stones grew more and more fragmented beneath their feet. Now, her robes were drenched in sweat, tips burnt by flares. The dehydration too was beginning to weigh down upon her—she panted and gasped, struggling to keep up speed, tongue thick behind her lips.

The young Cleric glanced about. Around her, everyone's faces were grave and gradually turning hopeless—Shirion's, once so set and certain, now so exhausted; her mistress', worry clouding her eyes; Zethis'…gazing in her direction.

At Clynine's notice, the White Knight instantly turned away and walked faster—but persistently she followed. It was in moments like this, when they were walking the cliff between life and death, that she felt she needed _his _company more than ever.

The magician hurried to his side. "Hey there," she whispered hoarsely.

Zethis murmured in acknowledgement, reddening even more. "Are you okay?" he asked. She smiled widely back and nodded—

Suddenly Lanoré gave a cry—a flare burst close to their feet. The Cleric shrieked and leapt away, before swerving and running forth, faster than ever, her skin singed. "Let's pay attention," Zethis exclaimed, as the forerunners picked up speed and the true race began. He smiled at her, just once—and she felt her heart soar.

Around them, the flames and demons shot by in streaks, as they raced across the archipelago of islands upon the magma, the ground shattering and breaking as their feet skipped lightly across, the eight scattering and taking multiple paths—for the same path could not be used twice. Lanoré often turned to freeze new paths for them, hardening the liquid lava to form a useable road, before it was broken again by the tides of flame.

_Halfway there. _Clynine held her breath and steeled herself, racing and crying and leaping like she had only once before. Ahead of her, Lanoré forged, continuously, the path of ice and soot—and ever faithful, ever blind, she followed. _To Zakum. To death._

Like blackbirds they shot across, landing finally upon the section between this room and the last. Clynine followed helplessly, yet her feet slowed every moment, and she cried in terror—

Then she felt a hand grab hers. Zethis. In his brown eyes burnt a greater bravery than she had ever seen in them before—the desperation and the hope of a person for his closest friend. Or his child. Or his wife.

She called his name as they completed the last few feet of the road, and landed on the other side, the last blazing room. She was covered in sweat, clouding her eyes and matting her hair and soaking her robes—and she was burnt, dizzy. "You'll be okay," Zethis suddenly assured her from beside her, gripping her hand tighter—voice still as shy and sweet as ever, though it was also fierce like the flames. "Last room. Come on."

And again—they stood before the altar of Zakum.

Flames exploded all around them—still the eight ran like they were dying, Zethis and Clynine furthest behind. Upon the throne, the creature was in its fullest fury, its crown of fists about its head like a halo, hands pounding the burning earth with rage.

"_YOU!" _it bellowed, turning its stone head to face Lanoré. _"You have come and gone before! Die! _Die! DIE!_"_

And suddenly, they knew that they were about to be extinguished.

Fire erupted everywhere. With a cry, Lanoré sent a river of ice in seven directions, engulfing them in frost, then thaw, then rain. Around the Ice Lightning Archmage they circled, weapons ready thought they knew they could do nothing.

Another eruption—this time, Clynine screamed when she felt her feet burn moments before ice embraced her and tossed her into the air. Lanoré yelled furiously, staff whirling in her hand. Magma thundered upwards in a column around everyone, and blazing heat swallowed her, shrieks all useless in the flames. But instantly the Archmage was there, and she raised a Blizzard through the cavern—freezing the lava rivers, scouring the monster's face, tearing the rocks apart with hail.

Zakum did not relent, its great teeth gnashing as the winds fell, unbearable flashes of heat and thunder exploding around its hands, its blank eyes rolling in their places…

Then everyone saw it. A hole in the corner of its eye, where a small chip of granite had fallen out.

"_No—stop!" _came a cry. It was Turino. Everything froze, even the glow of the flames.

Gasping, the Mage raced forward to Lanoré, holding up a hand to stop her from performing any further attacks. The Fire Poison Mage strode up to the surprised monster. "Your eye," he said bravely.

The monster's hands shuddered. _"My…eye," _it echoed, slowly, raising a vast hand to its broken left eye. _"Someone…stole a piece of my eye."_

"And I have it."

Telida gave a cry of shock. In his palm he produced a shard of rock, the same shade as Zakum itself.

"Our father stole it from you," he went on, walking closer and holding the piece out—an unarmed young man before an ancient behemoth of stone. And as if a thread were breaking, Zakum gave a sigh, like an ocarina note.

"_My…eye," _it said again, spreading out its gigantic palm before Turino. _"It hurts. Help me. It hurts."_

Breathing deeply, Turino clambered onto the great hand, and slowly, he was raised to the monster's head. Carefully, he fitted the stone into its eye—a perfect jigsaw match.

Zakum returned the Mage to the ground, all its rage vanishing from the cavern. Above them, the monster's eye shone; the shard magically sealed itself in with the rest of the stone. It gave another sigh—and this time, it was a humming harmony.

"_Good bye," _it murmured. _"Good bye, friends. Good bye."_

And as they stood, the lights in the cavern slowly began to vanish in a clockwise spiral, from the edge of the room to the center—a million candles going out, one by one. The scent of incense whirled around them, in the stones—and upon the streams of the walls, the fire spirits were dancing softly, their brilliant crowns glowing upon their heads.

"Let's go," Lanoré murmured, within the divine darkness. "The job is done, but the schedule remains to be completed."

* * *

The group of eight exited through the tunnel beneath Zakum's Altar, crying for joy at the brilliance of the coldness outside. Within five minutes, they had circumnavigated a section of Mount Taryon, arriving close to the secondary mine entrance. Ten armed guards still surrounded the closed gate, though they were obviously in chaos.

Turino frowned, as they arrived upon the slopes near the entrance, hidden from view. "Alright, but what now?" he asked, gazing at the dangerously large gathering below. "What do we do?"

Akera gave a small laugh. "Oh, just wait for the command."

She counted two minutes—and then, the command was given.

The guards began to awaken from their dazedness, only to find a group of eight soaring down into the snowy valley, mad laughter in their eyes. Many derogatory cries were issued as the ten charged straight to the gates, shoving guards aside like sacks. Rushing to a stop, they stood, exhausted and elated—yet still somewhat confused. Why were they waiting? Certainly, they were safe for now, but reinforcements would inevitably arrive if they waited too long…

Then there was a deep rumbling in the snow. Everyone turned to its source—and at once, all their questions answered.

Out of nowhere, a thundering mass of white had suddenly appeared on the horizon, the sun shining in their backs, steadily galloping closer…

"Oh, my _word,_" Shirion murmured.

A herd of yetis advanced towards them, their riders calling out in joy. In no time at all, they had arrived at the gates as well, panting with exhaustion, roaring to the skies of their homeland.

The first yeti came to a stop beside the Crusader. From high atop its back, Ralinn grinned down. "Good timing, eh?"

Lanoré instantly commanded the rest to mount, though the chatter was still loud and animated. "Got our luggage?" Lanoré called through to Raydan, who nodded and tossed the house keys back.

"All ready?" Akera asked. There was a general murmur of agreement from around her.

And with a single shout from Ralinn, the herd sped into a powerful gallop. The grand animals soared across the wild snows, swift as the wind that rushed by their faces and through their fur, tasting the snowy gales with relish.

"So, Akera," Lanoré said, riding at the front of the group. "All the loose ends tied up?"

Akera nodded wordlessly. The Ice Lightning Archmage smiled and gazed at Orbis Tower, tall in the distance. "Oh, but are you sure you did the modifications correctly?" she inquired.

"Are you sure you want to question my abilities?" she replied sharply. Lanoré found herself grinning.

"Don't worry, I trust you." Then, with a glance backwards, "Hm…I wonder how Xelion is taking it right now."

* * *

Suddenly, Xelion realized that the entrance hall was slightly…_darker _than usual. Suspiciously he turned around and observed his surroundings, noting nothing strange at all, to his momentary confusion. The doors were polished, the torches were burning, the main gate was closed—

The main gate was closed.

_No—._

Something was _wrong _here. As the first drops of panic began to slip in, the necromancer glanced back, stomach churning.

Behind him, the security gate was shut as well, tight as a cork on a wine bottle.

Closed in, on both sides.

Gasping, he realised the only way it could have happened. _Lanoré._

No, it _couldn't _have. Not in his own _home. _Heart pounding in his throat, he turned to his last chance—the lever on his right. Tugged it.

Icy terror flooded into him as he pulled it again, harder, and cried out.

It wouldn't budge.

Pacing about, he felt the orderly catalogues in his brain throw themselves into disorder. _No. _He wouldn't believe it. This final, beautiful, inevitable victory—it had been snatched out of his hands. _All over again._

_How?_

Desperately, his mind rewound back to those five minutes in time, when he had encountered a girl and a woman on the snow, both in magician's attire. He recalled how he had been blinded, out of his own stupidity—and how he had immediately found them again within the Mines. No, nothing _this_ complex could have transpired within that mere minute. Nothing…

Then he remembered the tracks in the snow that had passed as he had run, the freshest ones springing clearly back to mind.

…_Three sets._

He gave a hollow, crazed gasp. _Three._

Xelion screamed, throwing his body against the levers, bruising himself. There had been _three _all along. Three people, working to ruin his life. And if they had made someone invisible, helped a person survive a fatal blow in the head, and altered the functions of his levers—then perhaps…perhaps they had…

Panting with outright _despair, _he pressed his ear hard against the cold metal of the security gate to the prison cells, listening, begging to hear _anything…_

Absolute silence.

_Impossible! _He wanted to shriek. _Impossible _that they had outsmarted him. _Impossible _that they had taken his victory away.

But he had used the word "impossible" too many times today—and every single time, he had been wrong.

Xelion buried his face in his palms, making a horrible noise in his throat, watching as the world turned around. He had meant to fool the Silver Fang, to starve her to death, to claim the most savoured victory of his life. Yet _he _was the one who had been fooled, unforgivably. _He _was the one now waiting to die, between two gates that would never open.

But perhaps this was the best way.

If, somehow, his guards _did _find a way to open the gates, then he'd lose his job. And his head.

Sobbing wretchedly, flinging himself repeatedly at the broken black walls, Xelion felt the cold jaws of death close in on him from either side.

* * *

At the base of Orbis Tower, Orion's Belt dismounted and set the Yetis free. "Alright," Akera announced, walking to the middle of the group as their heads turned. "We_ could _fight our way up the tower, and butcher some guards on the way—but no, there will be a much easier road to Orbis."

"And what would that be?" asked Telida testily.

"I think you'll know, when you see."

Dramatically, she turned to the sky over their heads. One by one, the rest followed suit—and gasped.

Lifted by the winds, three glorious chirps set the sky aglow, as the flutter of feathers whirled into their midst.

"Sorelia!" cried Raydan happily, racing to the blue creature with tears in his eyes, as she cried out in elated response.

"Up we go," Lanoré rounded up the excited lot, shepherding them on board with much anticipation and joy in her eyes.

* * *

The autumn cold was pleasant, and everyone's gazes were transfixed upon the distance beyond as Sorelia made her course into the blue winds.

Everyone except for Clynine, of course—she was currently blowing her nose miserably into a handkerchief, trying to appear as polite as possible. Yet, within the azure sky's embrace, beside the White Knight she had grown to like very much, Clynine knew that she had never felt such joy before.

Akera was meditating; Lanoré and Shirion were in calm conversation. Ketara and Telida were watching the clouds slip by on the lake, a smile upon the girl's lips like no other before. And in a corner, as always, Turino sat, a deep sadness in his eyes that no one would ever understand.

And at the head of the saddle, beside Raydan, Ralinn had no attention for anything around her—only the top of the tower, and the sky, and the stars beyond. _Orbis, _she thought. _Orbis, the tower of the Goddess—where the journey began._

_What, then, beyond the last Spear part? Are we flying into danger or redemption? Perhaps they are inseparable; perhaps they are the same. I must be wary and strong—this much, the world has taught me._

_But what will we lose, and what will we gain?_

The tower ended, and Sorelia rose beneath the white arches of the sky—her wings one with the firmament, her eyes the treasures of life. She sang for joy as the blue skies came to surround her, and the veils of light parted in the breeze, wishing them luck.

And somewhere far away, in an old Henesys school courtyard, the cherry trees were shedding their very last leaves—shadows of a past that has been lost, a future that could have been.

* * *

Xelion says that he "used the word 'impossible' too many times today". Technically, he didn't say the word at all. Just assume that he was thinking about it throughout everything that happened.


	10. Year of the Rabbit: Tower of Light

OMG it's actually done. I'm absolutely sorry for how long this chapter took to appear. The first draft finished close to 40k words, and it took me the whole of this week to cut it down to the length you see now.

I hope that, though this chapter definitely doesn't live up to the previous, you can enjoy this almost as much.

Anonymous comment replies

**The Most Pro Mapler on Earth**: I think I'll never catch up with Maple on their new jobs, at the rate they're appearing.

**LOLcatz**: Okay, that officially makes three people who have dreamt of Ketara before! (me included :DDD)

**Ditto000**: I'm not sure; I have a prequel for this story (which appeared back in the times when I was writing crap at the rate of 3,000 words a day), and I'm still debating with myself whether or not to post it.

* * *

Chapter 10: Year of the Rabbit/ Tower of Light

_council of the deities_

"This meeting has been called for the sake of an important decision that has to be made," announced the Goddess to the deities gathered, in the icy-white amphitheatre of heaven. At the touch of her voice, even the most disobedient deity was put to silence. "The chosen guild has arrived at the last part of the Spear, and they have done well. But the darkness has grown too, so much that I fear that they might not succeed. Thus, I have to propose a change in the plan—that we relieve them of the duty, and go in their place."

It was one of those questions that the Goddess knew would be objected to. And the first objection came a mere two seconds later. Gazes turned—it was Arelyn, servant-daughter of the Clock Spirit.

"Do you now doubt the plan that _you _believed so deeply in?" she asked. "Look at how many times they almost died for the sake of this quest! Will you now take it from them?"

A conversational buzz ascended from the audience almost immediately, the buzz of discussion that gradually expanded into the rumble of argument. Deities began to throw up suggestions—some likely, some horrible. Fists were raised, and bolts of light glowing in palms.

"_We will gather and defeat the Spirit!"_

_"But the Goddess and the Dragon have lost almost all power, and the Clock Spirit will not fight. We cannot win."_

_"Then these humans will die, and the world will die with them!"_

The stands were full of voices in assent. The arguing would have lasted hours, everyone knew, if not for the sense of some. From the first row, there was a rustle. The deity of hope had stood, and the sound of her movement sent another hush through the crowd. She gave a suggestion that put all thousand to utter silence.

"We can help them, can't we? It's not a tradition of the deities to help humans, but we have had to do it before. Why should tradition hold against the looming shadow of the Dark Spirit?"

Mouths opened, ready to rain protest, that the humans were none of their business, that there were better ways to save the world now that the Spear was finished—but the Goddess seemed pleased. And her palm struck the tabletop, a gesture that meant there would be no further argument. "Excellent suggestion. The humans may have fallen to sin, and we might have sworn them off. But they own the world just as much as we, and they have grown to own the power we have sadly lost. They might have darkened, but there is We can let them go on, but they will not go unassisted," she said. "If they call on us, we will be there to aid them. Especially you, Clock Spirit, and you, the Keepers of Time. Closed. Now, are there other matters—"

Before She finished, Kalia the Guardian of Time had risen from her seat. "That's enough!" she exclaimed, plunging straight into her speech. "There is no justice _or_ mercy in Heaven! All we decide, we decide through _votes _like this!"

The restless voices rose in a swell around them. _What is wrong with the Clock Spirit's children? _Many were muttering among themselves. _Does __It__ not know how to educate them?_

"For matters that we started, such as _this, _it is fine. But for matters that were never ours to start with, there is no justice. And yet _no mercy_! If a deformed child is born, we vote and kill him! If an important woman is destined for death, we vote and save her! What if they don't_ want _us to choose?"

In the seconds that followed, everyone was silent. No one spoke, no one objected. Yet no one wanted to agree.

At length, the Clock Spirit intervened. "Guardian, it is not your place to speak in this way," It murmured.

A pause. "Yes, Master," she finally whispered, lowering herself back into her seat. From then, her words were forgotten.

* * *

_deina: loneliness_

While the meeting was in progress in the theatre of heaven, a solitary deity was locked in her perpetual guard shift. Alone in a chamber of her tower, Deina sat scraping rust from her halberd.

This was a world behind a mirror—a reflected version of Orbis Tower, turned on its head by light. Here, she had made her binding pledge of selfless service to the Goddess, to guard the Tower until the end of the world. Here she had been left, for centuries she no longer wanted to count.

But echoes of the minutes of her life before imprisonment continued to haunt her, all the time.

_"Will you stand guard forever, my daughter?"_

The guardian lowered her gaze to the tiles of the ceiling, sighing at the chandelier lying tangled on its side. "Until my world ends, and I with it," Deina whispered in reply—something she did day after day; a reminder, a charm.

_But is this not injustice? I am weary and I have been dutiful. When will my reprieve come?_

Allowing her unfinished job to fall to the ground, Deina strode to the window, climbing out of it and onto the balcony outside. She went to the edge and sat among the snowflakes. At the horizon, the grey peaks plunged into the blue like icebergs, wearing wreaths of grey cloud.

This world was beautiful in every right. Then why did she long to escape? A mirror levitated just beyond the balcony, the only doorway out of her world. She had tried to use it before—but it had only left her with burns on her fingers.

A sudden coldness passed over her heart.

_It's because I'm lonely._

Hoping to chase the despair away, Deina sang a short tune—a melody she somehow remembered, despite never hearing music before:

_I might dream and weave and sing_

_And then you might know everything_

A minute later, the beat of wings heralded the arrival of Veriun, her black winged steed. The beast descended to her mistress' side, hooves clip-clopping on the marble stones. Deina smiled and rose to meet her.

"Sunrise is almost here," the guardian whispered, the smile hanging defiantly onto her lips, turning to the orange horizon. It was a horizon she had tried to visit before, trapped in an eternal, unrelenting blizzard. The ocean was the same, locked in sea-storm. Made to trap her.

The only way out now was down—to freefall through the sky, until she reached the other end. But Deina knew not what waited there; she feared she might never return.

_Where does the snow go, when it falls into the sky?_

Veriun whinnied, nuzzling her mistress' violet hair. She raised a hand to the horse's neck, brushing out her fur. "We'll go there one day, Veriun. On the day we're released, we'll see what's on the other side."

* * *

_yunira: spring of communion_

Circled by the autumn breeze high in the branches, Yunira was thinking about Raydan. Which was odd, seeing that the last time they had met had been four years ago. Four long years, and yet the burning impression of those amber eyes had refused to leave her. What could she say? He still amazed her. So ready to accept others for who they were.

_Even me._

So she was a Spearman. And she wasn't an extraordinary girl—she had flame-red hair, and eyes greener than the canopies. She was dressed the way any ordinary teenager girl would dress—v-neck tee and old jeans—Nakamaki resting against the branch beside her.

She found herself sighing, without wanting to. It had been a long time—such an immeasurably long time, since she had wished him goodbye, and he had headed off into the morning. And how silly it was, too, to harbour any hopes of meeting him again! But Victoria Island was a small place, and King Caleix made it even smaller. Who knew? She might just meet the guy again…

A crackle of dry leaves far ahead awakened Yunira to her surroundings once more. There she spotted her guardian Hyrien walking towards her, sword in hand. "Thought I'd find you here," he murmured. She rose with a bright smile at the sight of her unspoken foster father, leaping from the crook of the branches. At his beckoning, they proceeded further into the forest, towards their secret drinking spring. Recently, there had been signs of a group of unknown creatures using the place as well. It was puzzling, for the footprints were clawed—and no clawed creature lived in this forest, as far as they knew. But it was no matter; the spring was to be shared.

"You're bothered by something," Yunira suddenly remarked. "You don't normally go to the spring _before _training."

The male warrior turned in surprise. "You sharp little thing," he murmured, his smile rapidly lost to the grey weight upon his head. "Pelinor just told me he's planning the king's assassination. His _assassination._ I mean—it's a good plan. But I've learnt to trust my instinct. And something about this bothers me. It's like we aren't _meant _to do this—"

It was at this moment that four flashes of black shot overhead, scattering leaves in their wake. Yunira leapt behind Hyrien with a shriek; the White Knight backed away—bumping straight into her, turning around.

"Dragons?" he murmured. As Yunira turned, she too saw the four reptilian figures, crouched low on the branches with brilliant yellow eyes. "I thought…they were extinct. How did they come to be here? Didn't they die out years ago…?"

"Strange," murmured Yunira, equally bewildered. "Why _are _you here?"

_"Water," _the first dragon cried. _"We come to drink from the spring."_

Yunira yelped, stepping away in shock. "It—talked," she gasped, and Hyrien gave her a _look_. "The dragon there! Didn't you hear it?" Certain from Hyrien's expression that he didn't believe her, she turned to the winged reptile. "Dragon? Did you speak to me?"

_"Hello," _the same dragon replied.

"Would you—come down here, please?"

_"But is the one beside you a good person?"_

It was as if a wall had been broken. The girl grinned, going on. "He's one of my closest friends!" she answered. And seeing her smile, all four dragons instantly leapt from the branches, landing with excited cries. Till then, Hyrien had been wearing disbelief. Now he looked even more disbelieving.

"Nice to meet you!" the Spearwoman exclaimed. "I am Yunira, and this here is Hyrien."

_"I am Hterizl,"_ the apparent leader replied. The girl nearly choked trying to repeat the name.

_"Adrile," _said the next, very succinctly.

_"My name is Ileihran," _the third added. Yunira echoed both names with some trouble.

_"Yunira, Hyrien, I am Kiherhlarhoxp," _the last introduced itself. This time, Yunira wisely chose not to pronounce it. _"Would you be so kind as to allow us passage to your spring?"_

"Of course!" the Spearwoman replied. "In fact, we should head there now."

All four dragons bowed, their scales and eyes glimmering in the golden streams of sunlight. _"You are kind," _murmured Hterizl. _"I wish to meet you again."_

"You will! We live in that white stone building close by here. Now let's go!"

The young Spearwoman gave a cry of joy and dashed ahead of the White Knight, laughing. Hyrien gave a call of surprise, giving hurried chase. Overhead, there was the sound of wings unfurling in the wind—and four shadows slipped through the branches above them, swifter than arrows.

* * *

_lanoré: hometown_

"So, the Neck," Lanoré murmured, taking the round object from Ralinn and turning it in her fingers. While the ten members of Orion's Belt carried on with their own private conversations among themselves, Lanoré smiled to herself. She had only just won the most satisfying victory of her life, in her very own hometown.

_Hometown…_

Occasionally, Lanoré found her thoughts being directed back to her lowly past by the strangest of things. And it was happening right now, now as she watched the mountains drift further and further…

_A soft bun warming her hands, as the rhythmic knock of a hammer on wood—leather between—saturated the frigid evening air. The gentle, homely smell of tanned leather and wood shavings; brown, brown, so much brown. Brown of the earth, though the world was all snow outside. Brown, of poverty, and of the hearth, and of the woods. And so warm, so warm._

Lanoré sighed as her heart was reclaimed by the memory. She watched as the windows streamed with afternoon gold, the grilles silhouettes in the dust. She watched as her father hammered the sole onto another boot, and her mother arrived with a dish of cookies.

_"Don't you think that's enough work for today?" she exclaimed, sitting down on the stool beside the pair—Lanoré, and her father Heliodor._

_"Exactly, Father—when will you finish your work?" _

_Disgusting…you seem so sure that they are happy!_

Glancing back at the round object in her fingers, the Archmage felt her heartbeat rise with surprised anger. All at once, she began to feel the darkness seep down from the edges of her vision, like running ink—she blinked, turning her gaze abruptly from the cursed item in her hand.

_The more attention I pay to it, the more it will anger me, _she warned herself._ That's what it wants._

She could already feel the dark veins of doubt and spite tangling themselves with hers. But she had to protect the rest_. _

* * *

_preludes_

In the sun, the stones seemed to glow as if they had been imbued with magic. Yet again, it was possible—for the Goddess herself had built Orbis Tower, stone by stone, in those early times when humanity had only been a figment of the Dragon's vast imagination. Everyone in Orion's Belt spent extra time wandering down the streets, taking in the gorgeous scenery.

"No sightseeing!" yelled the guild leader.

Towards the inn they eventually proceeded, down a staircase at the edge of the city into a network of corridors. The guild waited at the counter of the lobby as the receptionist took Ralinn's order, showing much annoyance when she requested ten rooms—though it pretty much vanished when Ketara smiled at her and said a short "thank you".

"There he goes again,"she murmured, almost bored.

* * *

_"Tell us why we're here already!"_

Ralinn had called a meeting in her room at two-thirty in the afternoon. The rest, all of whom had either gone for a sightseeing trip or lunch, had begun to trickle in around one-thirty—Zethis and Ketara colonizing her mattress for match cards, Clynine proceeding to do her hair at the dressing table—and eventually, everyone else, each with their own personal entertainment.

The latest to arrive was, as always, Raydan. And the instant he turned up at the door, Akera finally lost patience.

Recently, the Mage had been growing very touchy. _Especially_ around the guild leader. One could tell quite plainly why this was so—and it couldn't be a good sign for the guild.

When Akera was angry, _everyone_ was at stake. _Look what she did last time she lost her temper. I'm surprised Turino survived._

"Crap, why do we have a slow, dumb leader like you?" she exclaimed, when no apparent progress was made.

Ketara and Raydan went silent, sweeping their cards away. Ralinn's mouth opened in utter shock. "Why are you so _rude_?" spat the guild leader back.

All Akera did in response was to roll her eyes. "Stay away, then," she answered venomously. "You can't change how _I _act, so change _yourself_."

Ralinn's mouth went even wider. _"Why, you—"_

"Akera!" Turino suddenly cut in from behind. "Don't do this, Akera." She turned to glare at him—but his dark gaze was steadier and stronger. Perhaps from the sense of obligation, the girl said no more, withdrawing to a corner.

"_Alright,_" exclaimed Ralinn, resuming distractedly. "As I was trying to say just now—our quest only has to be completed by the end of the year, giving us five months. And if all we're doing is killing the king, then we have quite some time to spare. What I was thinking was that we ought to take a break—you guys deserve it."

Raydan leapt to his feet on the bed. "Finally, Linn talks sense!" he whooped. Ketara yelled and clapped, and his applause was quickly followed by that of the rest.

"So, so, so," the guild leader finally cut through the chatter, grinning widely. "Ready, guys? The one month break begins _now._ Dismissed!"

* * *

_clynine: butterfly_

In the gardens of Orbis, there stood a pair of mages. One was blonde and rather tall in comparison; the other was slight and some way from full adult height. The Cleric glanced up at her mistress' countenance in expectance—but there was nothing in her gaze that suggested what they were about to do.

"Clynine, are you ready for this?"

"I…think so."

"Well, you _should be_."

Suddenly worried, the Cleric fingered her gown. Where had Lanoré's encouragement vanished to? _And now, of all times, when I need all the encouragement I can get…_

For today, she was about to do what no Cleric had ever done before, in the history of magicians. Not that it wasn't a first for her. She _had_ mastered every Bishop skill in the book, after all—every Bishop skill except one.

"So, Clynine," Lanoré resumed the lesson, voice tight and testy. "Tell me what you've learnt."

"I learnt how to summon souls," the Cleric echoed her book mechanically. Her eyes strayed to the butterfly flitting over her mistress' head, following its traipsing flight. "I learnt how to call them, and guide them—"

_"Pay attention!"_ the Archmage snapped, the eyes flashing.

"—Y-yes, mistress Lanoré! I-I read about it…and I have learnt all that I must, mistress Lanoré!"

"Alright, then." The legendary magician now raised her gaze to follow Clynine's, and serenely, she snatched the careless butterfly from the wind. With a simple crackle of lightning from her fingers, it was dead, the scent of smoke faint in the breeze.

"So, are you ready to perform a Resurrection?"

The young Cleric glanced at the dead butterfly in her palm. _Am I? _She thought to herself, then realised that she would _have _to learn to do it someday. So she swallowed, and ran a preliminary check through her knowledge, the basics that would save her from any likely roadblock.

Some time in the last ten seconds, the creature's soul had fled from its body. Somewhere within, its motionless heart was longing to beat again. But not without its soul. The soul was gone, and the heart couldn't beat without it. Only she could call it back from its journey to heaven, reunite the two entities and bring the creature back to life.

_This is the basis of Resurrection: convincing the soul to come home._

"Yes, mistress—I am."

"Then be hasty," warned the Archmage, her palm extending a little further. "The longer you wait, the more it will hurt."

The sound of Lanoré's voice made her leap—propelling her head-first into motion. She raised a hand, squeezing her eyes shut and extending projections of her magic everywhere. Rays of her influence soared outwards around her, searching the sky above, the ground beneath, imprints of the wind and the leaves forming pale patches behind her eyelids—

Until her consciousness suddenly chanced upon a struggling presence skimming the treetops.

_Come, butterfly! _Her heart screamed—and she staggered, for every syllable was like a dagger through her. But it was to no avail. The butterfly was still drifting away.

_No, no…I'm leaving forever, _it cried._ Forever, love. Forever…_

The young mage shook her head vehemently in reply, advancing, stretching an open palm in its direction. _No, no— _and she screamed again, falling back in utter unspeakable pain. _Please—follow—_

Something warm and sheer began to crack Clynine apart from inside—but still she called, steeling herself against the pain. Because she had to succeed, because this needlessly killed butterfly deserved to live again. Because her mistress was waiting.

_You aren't where you think you are, _she cried then. _This isn't the joy you want, butterfly! There is only calm in heaven. But there's—there's _love_ waiting for you here!_

_Here, in my hand…_

_…love, from the ones you left behind…_

The crack grew wider, and in it, the butterfly soul cried. _No one loves me! _It grieved, dragging itself further._ I was murdered because I was hated! _Hated_!_

_They don't hate you, butterfly. Your home, this garden, this world—it loves you more than that, more than you could think! _

Clynine opened her mouth to reply—but it was like something tearing her body in two. It was like a waterfall, rising up through her ribcage, forcing itself through her throat. But she breathed anyway, and she forgot everything else. _In, out. In, out._

_Butterfly, dear butterfly…how can you say that? Too many in the world love you, _need_ you. Without you, the flowers of Orbis cannot bloom. The city will die. Without you, dearest…_

And it fell into sweet silence, a silence that made Clynine feel sad.

_Is that…true? Must I? Do they really…love me?_

And she felt the leaves and the light become one. One with the stones, the stars, the rain. Clynine began to weep because the butterfly was crying too, collapsing to the floor while the vast wings of light fell to the earth around her like the palest shroud in the world…

_Breathe._

Her chest rose and fell once; her eyes opened, and she blinked. That was all she could do. Her mistress held her palm out, calm and motionless like the snows from which she had come.

In Lanoré's hand, the butterfly's powdery blue wings gave a small flutter. A second.

Then turning upon its side, it gave each wing a small shake and stood, fully-formed, as if it had just emerged from its cocoon, dazzled and astounded by this world all around…

_…him. It's…a male._

There was silence, and within it, the Cleric finally collapsed. Like a petal, the butterfly rose from Lanoré's hand into the wind. Clynine sighed wearily, watching his frolicking path past the vine leaves.

"Thank you. The lesson for today is finished." The Archmage turned in a flutter of blue robes. Without even thinkingto offer half-unconscious Clynine assistance, she strode away.

* * *

_ketara: not knowing_

The corridor lights were dim, especially since he had just left a well-lit hotel room. Therefore he was not anticipating anyone appearing so soon, so suddenly, as he emerged through the doorway.

"Ketara. Don't you _dare _hurt my sister."

Ketara leapt at the sudden command behind him, hand still rested on the doorknob—until he turned to look.

"Oh, Turino! So glad to see you!" he answered, oblivious to the stone-cold stare that the dark-haired Mage's only visible eye now fixed him with.

"Don't hurt her," he snarled again, almost an enraged animal. Was this his old spirit, the one that had run rampant in the unforgiving deeps of the Dungeon? "She trusts you, alright? So don't abuse that!"

These words surprised Ketara, much as he knew them true. "But…Turino! You seem to love her so much, Turino! Why does she speak of you like you're a demon bent on hurting her? You…care so much, and yet—"

"Yet _what_? She doesn't care about _me_? Well, I don't need _her_ care, alright?"

Turino must have expected Ketara to back away at his impassioned rant. For when the warrior stood his ground and smiled, he wasn't prepared for it.

"What is it, you happy _idiot_? No one but an idiot could be so happy—or someone who has never loved another _enough_ before! Do you know, Ketara? Do you know how it feels to love another so much it hurts, only to have that love thrown back in your face and spit upon? If _you _knew, you wouldn't be smiling now!"

"I—"

But suddenly he, too, was silent.

_He didn't know._

The closest he had ever come to real _love_ had been Horned Tail, in a way deeper than could be explained. And though it had merely been for minutes, it had been the most painful time of his life—more painful, even, than all the battles he had fought before and after that day.

"You're right, Turino," he murmured. "I don't know this pain. But…_you're_ hurt, more than you should be, Turino. There's something I don't understand. Why does she hate you so, when _you_ love her?"

The Mage turned away, clenching his fists as if he wanted to destroy something, something that had survived all his relentless assaults so far. "Because love means _nothing_," he answered, hands closing around imaginary prison bars. "No, not to her. Love, for her, is something to take and never to give in return."

Then he flung his gaze back with terrifying suddenness, glaring up at the Dragon Knight. "And that's why _you _should leave her alone!" he added. "You'll only hurt yourself, Ketara! Stop _wasting _your time on her!"

Ketara barely bit back his terrifyingly impassioned retort. "B-but she's—she's a great person!" he insisted.

"Well, that's because you're the cheerful Dragon Knight who could charm a snake into a knot! Sooner or later, she's going to start seeing through it, and start treating you for what she shallowly knows to be. _Male._"

He turned away upon hearing this revelation. Something ached in his heart. _Will it be that way, Lida?_

"Um…Turino, could I ask what happened?"

"She hurt me, and that's all you need to know."

Silence was all that persisted, for all of five minutes. Ketara spent it pacing, and he wished, so _wished, _he could comprehend this. But all the while he knew that unless he found another to love this much—as much as this broken Mage before him—he never would and never could empathise.

"Sometimes, I wish I were you," mumbled the Mage, an admission. "You're closer to her than anyone else is—even me. Really…you know how she made an oath never to fall in love? You'll make her regret it."

"Oh, I—no, she _wouldn't_, would she?"

The warrior's heart swelled with—what? Hope? A dreg of belief, even_…_?

_No, not that, I don't want it! She made me swear, and I will honour my word._

But there was this doubt in there somewhere, a doubt that made him feel as if there were an ocean beneath his feet. Did he really believe these words? Wasn't it true, that sometimes he looked at Telida and marvelled at how lucky he was to have met her?

He looked up, hoping to explain himself to Turino—but by then, somehow so soundlessly, the Fire Poison Mage had vanished.

* * *

_akera: promise_

Akera was meditating. Around her, the walls vanished gradually—the cushions, the curtains, the bed beneath her. Slowly the darkness peeled away, and she found herself enveloped in spiritual fire, pure fire that burnt her garments away and left her alone, bare, in a pool of molten light.

She breathed, once. The air around her was divinely hot, but something was strangely different this time—something perhaps triggered by her location, deep in the heart of Orbis. All too suddenly, she smelt the scent of incense and alcohol, and almost as fast her mind drew the association with the Clock Spirit.

_And burnt petals, _she thought, vaguely.

Sure enough, a face almost instantly surfaced from the pool beneath her, barely a grey shadow. "Akera," it whispered. But it wasn't the face of the Master of Fate that appeared—it was the deity's daughter, Arelyn. "Akera, ask."

And she knew at once that the Clock Spirit had something to give her—here, now, somehow. A promise that would be fulfilled in another time.

"Promise me," she whispered in reply. "Promise me that we will make it safely in and out of the Goddess' Tower." Ralinn hadn't told her of the last Spear part's location, but she had guessed it anyway. "Promise that the entire road will be safe."

Eyes closed beneath her. The light rippled gently, at shadow-Arelyn's returning breath.

"You have our word. Risk anything and everything—you will make it in and out, completely safe." And though her sceptical nature briefly led her to wonder if there were exploitable loopholes in these words, she found she could trust this voice that she knew was Arelyn's, a voice she had only ever heard speak wisdom before.

* * *

_ralinn: malfunction_

It was probably out of curiosity that Ralinn decided to abandon her responsibilities and search for the entrance to the Orbis Party Quest. Or maybe it was just the fact that she hadn't seen it, while the rest had experienced its wonders first-hand.

_Jealousy, that's more like it. Jealousy. Like that know-it-all Akera who just _can't keep any of her personal opinions the way they should be—_personal!_

_Stupid!_

She gave a short scream, clutching at her shirt, forgetting for moments the passers-by who had turned to watch her. It was only when tears spilt from her eyelids that she realised how silly she was being.

_Leave me alone, Akera, _she brooded._ If you really want someone to bully with that horrible scheming brain of yours, pick my brother. Not me, and not for a reason I cannot change!_

Then, slightly sadly: _What's happened to you? You were just a girl back when we met you, a girl who hadn't tangled herself up with the dangers of love and hate. You were so much stranger then, and…so much more beautiful. Why do you fall to the same flaws as the rest of us?_

Ralinn felt a breath of chilly wind on her face, suddenly. Without her notice, she had made it all the way to the wall at the edge of Orbis. Almost instantly she grew alert, glancing about for necromancers—

_Oh wait, I'm safe, _the guild leader realised, letting out a breath of relief. Again, she thanked the Goddess for reminding her not to take her bow along. How amazingly unbinding it felt, not having to travel with her defences up every step of the way.

The glass gate appeared in Ralinn's vision soon after. As she reached out to push it open, it surprised her that it wouldn't budge. Then she saw a neat little notice plastered flimsily to the upper bars, corners fluttering in the Orbis wind.

_The Orbis Party Quest has been closed down indefinitely due to unforeseen malfunction._

* * *

_an ocean song_

"Clynine!" roared the Archmage. The young Cleric snapped to attention.

"Y-yes, yes, Mistress," she whispered, gulping back tears.

Sweeping her hand upwards, the woman's shot a clean lightning bolt at the passing doves flock—in a rain of thuds, they plummeted to the ground, feathers scattering across the pavements, staining themselves with dove blood. _This isn't Lanoré! _The brilliance in Clynine's eyes cried, as the creatures descended from glory like tainted angels, crunching into the gravel at her feet. _This isn't her! This is a monster—_

"Mistress!" she pleaded.

"If you value my companionship, then _Resurrect them!" _Lanoré bellowed in mad reply.

"I can't!" she exclaimed vehemently, collapsing to the gravel in a tangle of rose gowns. "T-twenty-one is too many, Mistress! I'll die! I-I'll…"

"You _idiot girl!"_

Next second, a face-full of bitter gravel. She tasted it—bitter yet salty, salty with the redness of the deadened feathers. She _felt_ the redness on her lips. And Lanoré's shadow fell over her, a merciless tyrant with eyes blazing. "All these years, Clynine!" she cried. The Cleric pulled away, shaking. "Didn't you promise to follow my every order? _Must a HUMAN_ _die before you learn to perform a simple, pathetic Resurrect, Clynine?"_

And the way she spat the name out—_that _was what broke her.

Suddenly, Clynine was rising to her full height—sobbing and shivering, clawing at her dirty dress with talon-like fingers. "Is this what you're like behind that _veil of_ _gentleness?_"Already her mind knew that everything she was screaming was utterly _wrong_. But her heart was hurt, a splinter driven too deep inside.

_"This is what you're like to your parents too, isn't it? Why else did you leave them to slog it out in their dingy little workshop at home, anyway? You thought they were SERVANTS! I'm not your assistant—I'm your SERVANT! I never asked for this!"_

Lanoré's silence could have been pleasing. But there was no silence.

"_Who_ was the one who wasn't there when her parents got taken away? _Who_ took for granted that they'd fend for themselves without their daughter's help? Who just _abandoned them, _like old shoes she no longer needed?"

And that hit everything home. Brought everything whirling down, down, down through the sky like doves struck by lightning and left to die. The Cleric screamed.

"You evil hag! You aren't a heroine, no _legendary heroine of El Nath_. You're just an evil, horrible _witch!_"

And screaming still, Clynine raced away, down the marble roads of Orbis. And she never once looked back, back at the dead doves on the pathway, and at the mistress who had chosen to destroy her assistant's heart.

* * *

_I was right, wasn't I?_

The Archmage gave a cry of sheer despair, like a lost animal. In her pocket she knew, she _knew _that the Neck was glinting with malicious laughter, for its laughter now danced through the hollows of her mind.

_No, no, no! This is a trick! She _does_ listen! She is my assistant, and she trusts me—_

_Then what was _that?

* * *

"Clynine, Clynine!" came a loud call from behind. With a snarl, she whirled around.

"Leave me alone!"

Behind her, Zethis reeled back. "I—I'm so sorry—"

With a small gasp of realisation, Clynine wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned, running towards him. "No, no, _I'm_ sorry," she replied, gripping his fingers suddenly. "I'm so, so sorry. Something just happened…"

"With Lanoré?"

The girl gulped and nodded, and without asking, Zethis knew that she was struggling not to cry again. "Clynine…why don't we—er, talk?" the White Knight quickly said. Clynine nodded, and she spent about half a minute more sobbing, while Zethis desperately tried to decide on how to follow up his awkward invitation.

"Hey…Clynine," he whispered, hoping she had heard him. "Are you okay telling—I mean—can I ask…uh—no, I was just wondering if you, y'know, you t-trusted me enough to—"

The Cleric found the tiny strength to smile in reply, though her voice was shivery with tears. "It's—it's okay," she answered quickly. "Don't trouble yourself…What just happened is—I had an argument with her, and—I don't…don't get _why_…"

Zethis suddenly found that the sight his dear Cleric friend crying was enough to obliterate his nerves. "Clynine!" he gasped, hugging her. "Clynine…Clynine, you're hurt, and I wish it'd leave you—"

Without thought, without knowledge—he pulled her close and rested his head against hers, begging her to take courage. To realise that it didn't matter what Lanoré thought of her—for there were a hundred, a thousand others who would feel more and love more than that one hostile who hated.

And to his utter surprise, she abruptly stopped crying _altogether,_ and began to laugh.

"Ticklish!" was her initial response, lively and so sweet it made Zethis blush. "But yes, Zethis…I believe you. I believe you more than I've ever believed anyone before."

"Oh…thanks, Clynine… Can we…go? You're—you're okay now, aren't you…?"

"I probably never will be. But yes, let's go back. Back, to where Lanoré is. I can face her. Thanks."

"My pleasure," he answered softly, rising at her beckoning.

* * *

"Lanoré," she spoke the name, hoping that no emotion showed through. The woman stood among the white bodies, stone-cold as ever—cold like the ice she had learnt to master.

But then, in a fleeting, fleeting second of doubt, Clynine thought she saw a new imprint in her aura—darkness. _Shadows,_ pulsing like a crazy halo about her head and her being, flitting in and out of her lips and eyes.

Then it was gone, just as quickly. The Cleric set her gaze stubbornly forward.

"I see you've changed your mind," murmured the Archmage, equally emotionless.

Clynine snarled like a dog. "I have changed my mind about _nothing! _But as Zethis has reminded me, learning my skill is not admitting subservience to you—so I will show you! _I can Resurrect the doves!_"

And she did not allow her mistress to interrupt. Her fingers swept outwards with unnerving confidence, _without the familiar staff in hand_.

_Clynine!_

But she was already caught in her wheel of light, and Zethis could say no more to her, for she wouldn't hear. _Good luck, Clynine, _he felt himself whisper. And because he was close enough, he reached out to touch her fingers—and her grip tightened slightly, before slipping away into the blazing light.

* * *

And as she began, she felt the garden turn into sky. To them she was only glowing—but to her, she was soaring miles into the deeps of a world full of crystal blades, searching for a treasure she didn't know she would find.

Her arms dashed themselves upon the rocks. She cried out, and let her breath loose. Her wings finally left the abyss and bloomed into the seashore.

_Come, come, come! _She called after the birds as they departed, fifteen minutes away, perhaps too far. Her throat bled for each spirit, but her heart spiralled through the skies unfailing, falling in love, and out of it, and in again, into an ocean that rose and fell like yet another, every other.

_Please don't stray too far; I fear to fly across the sea…_

And from fear, her flight hugged the shore of the ocean. She found them, suddenly—white souls, as pale and as pure as snowflakes melting in the summer winds. Flitting away from the cliff, on towards an expanse so broad they were nothing in comparison.

_Come, spirits! You must return, for you were killed not by hate, but by jealousy!_

_Jealousy—because you may always soar, but she will never._

Then she could feel _it_. Her seams were tearing, her spirit breaking like shards of a bowl clumsily mended together, ready to split apart at the bidding of a breeze. _Stay together, _she begged unto herself, but she was already perched on the precarious edge of destruction. She couldn't go on like this for long.

_But we are together, flying together…and we must go…_

_Please! _She begged, uselessly._ You must return—your wings are a blessing to Orbis—_

A bit too late. Her spirit was ripping apart, and she was screaming. She was breaking, breaking into pieces that were caught and flung out in the relentless wind.

Then, suddenly, she was falling. _Falling, falling, falling. _Her grip on the sky was gone, and she was helpless, hopeless, her cause wasted…

_I'm leaving! _She thought, hurtling mercilessly towards the ocean, towards the sharp rocks camouflaged beneath the silk water of the bay. It was time to end, time to forget how to live. _I'm leaving now, and no one will be there to stop me! Goodbye…goodbye…_

Desperate cries resounded in reply, suddenly. _No, no—don't go there, don't go there, Clynine…_

Helpless banshee screams, for the pain that had the Cleric's entire borderless being in tangles, for a heart drowning in the sky.

Flickers of souls, chasing her down, a thousand white arrows shooting after her as she screamed and plummeted—

_Yes! _Screamed the Cleric. _That cruel woman who sent me on this journey—she meant for me to die, die, die—_

Then, she felt gentle feathers coming to enfold her, in the middle of the sky. She felt them brushing her shoulders and her face, and telling her that she would be _alright_.

_We will come, child! Don't you cry! Don't you hurt yourself like this! We will come, Clynine, we will come…together with you, we will live again…_

She could hear a heartbeat around her suddenly, bearing her on like a drum whose rhythm would never die; was it hers? Or was it the doves'?

Then she realised that it was the beat of wings, wings all around her—wings prouder than the sky, carrying her on and on, back to the shore.

* * *

The air shimmered around her like the surface of a lake, and the feathers painted trails in her gaze. Clynine breathed deeply—but her chest tightened and hurt when she did, and only her own breathlessness stopped her from screaming.

Light was drifting upwards all around her, in flecks and stars like pieces of a broken dream. They smiled at her—and together, the twenty-one doves rose from the road, streaks of violent blood staining their pure feathers.

_Welcome, and farewell, and welcome, and farewell again. _

Their voices seemed to echo with the words, as they departed for the clouds. Lanoré and Zethis were silent side by side, feet in the grass—one awestruck, the other incredulous. And Clynine, Clynine was just as blank as she had been in the last minutes, breathing deeply with eyes that wouldn't close, yet wouldn't open.

_Goodbye,_ she moved her lips to say, soundless but sincere. They waved once more, and took to the firmament above.

Then she heard a set of footsteps proceeding through the gravel towards her. "Clynine, you did it!" The edges of her every thought were blurred. "Clynine!"

Lanoré said not a word. She might have acknowledged her achievement, a summoning of twenty-one souls after fifteen minutes of departure, but she didn't make it known. All the half-dead Cleric heard were fading footsteps—and soft whispered words beside her ear.

_You're amazing, Clynine. You're so very talented._

She felt her heart leap silently at the hidden brilliance of his soft voice, like gold waiting to be polished. It was a special feeling, one that only spared an infinitesimal instant of time to touch her heart.

And that told her all she needed to know.

A minute later, she could hear no longer. And there wouldn't be any words from her for a few hours. But someone stayed to listen—just in case.

* * *

_where everyone has gone_

High in the sky, the last verses of autumn were melting quietly away. The vines were turning grey on the trellises, the leaves scattering like brittle wings. And here, oxymoronically underground in the sky, Ralinn had just discovered something she wondered why she hadn't discovered earlier. Burying her head deeper into the book, she felt the lump in her throat grow.

_"The Spear accords the wielder power immeasurable, power so vast that almost no one in the world, save a talented few, has strength enough to contain its rage. Finding one with the ability to do so is as likely as flipping a coin and having it land on its edge."_

And in those words, she finally came to realize that what she had just spent seven years doing might well come to naught. Without a hand to drive it, the Spear was useless. And who knew how she would find someone capable of withstanding Spear's power, at the rate that her informative book stated?

A person who as common as a coin landing _between_ heads and tails?

_The voice led me to the members, and it will lead me to a wielder, _she tried to reassure herself, smoothing the ruffled pages and slipping the volume into her haversack.

* * *

"So, Shirion," murmured Turino, a little moodily, as they took their lonely seats in a corner of the lounge for lunch. The Crusader lowered his tray and sat, hunching over his sandwich.

"Hmm?"

"Where's everyone now? I know Ketara's out entertaining himself at some place he calls the _King's Rear End_—Raydan's there too, trying to 'make himself useful'… But the rest?"

Shirion gave a thoughtful glance at the ceiling. "Why's Raydan making himself useful…at a bar? Odd, that." He took a bite of his sandwich, while his companion bit off a large corner of his plain beef slice. Chewing deliberate and slow, the ever-serious man turned again to the window next to them. There was nothing outside, except for blue sky and a flock of clouds.

"Clynine and Lanoré are training in a secret part of the gardens, and Akera—um, she's…in her room." The warrior self-consciously averted Turino's gaze.

"Still there?"

Shirion nodded. Turino drew back slightly, finishing his measly piece of beef and insisting that it was enough. The Crusader raised an eyebrow.

"I ate _less_ than this in the Dungeon," the Mage insisted furiously. "Nothing weird about it."

"Well, good nutrition is an important part of battle efficiency," answered Shirion logically. He chewed on another mouthful of his sandwich, and swallowed. "You have no idea what wonders a balanced diet does when you're fighting."

"And that's why I'm not a warrior!" replied Turino rather defensively.

The Crusader laughed, shaking his head. "We'll make an entertainer out of you yet," he commented, a statement the Mage obviously didn't appreciate. But knowing it relatively pointless to attempt to convince him otherwise, he departed, realising all of a sudden that he…_understood_.

_I know why Akera loves him. He's a gentleman. He…cares about people. __Not like me. Selfish, antisocial, uncouth. With less than _half _her vocabulary!_

He buried his face in his hands at that thought. It was a losing war—yet another, yet another. How many times had he lost it already? The tides of eternal solitude were already dragging him in.

_First Mother and Father. Then Telida. And now Akera. Why must it be this way? Must every person I love eventually desert me forever?_

* * *

"Work? A month? _Sweet_," was Raydan's immediate response to his newfound bar acquaintance. Around him, mugs clinked on tabletops, the speech merry and rowdy. For a work-day afternoon, there was a large clientele, and that was only testament to how outrageously famous the King's End was.

_Funny that the king hasn't closed it down yet, _the Sniper had thought upon entry. Then he had noticed the logo on the counter wall. _King's property. Blargh. I should have guessed from the name. _Here there was barely any fear for discovery, for it seemed any kind of activity was permitted—as long as it met the approval of the necromancer guard at the dark corner. Her presence wasn't _overbearing_, but it was enough to keep everyone in check.

Again his new friend grinned up at him, placing a map in Raydan's hands. "Every house marked with an X; come back to the End to collect the bottles for each street," instructed the man simply. "You get your pay at the end of the month. Simple as that." Another toothy grin.

Raydan nodded eagerly, glad to finally be making money for himself. The man gave his new employee a pat on the shoulder, and then the deal was done.

* * *

And thus Raydan spent the days of his month delivering milk to Orbis citizens. He earned about three hundred mesos a day, and that wasn't a bad rate for a delivery job.

Ketara began to form a little social circle of his own, at the bar that no one could tear down—already girls were asking him out on dates, and occasionally, so did the men. Telida somehow caught him every time someone tried to make an advance on him—lurking in the shadows at the far end until she suspected something was about to happen. Then she would spring out, dagger flailing, leaving a few cuts here and there without actually starting a fight.

She had gained a fearsome reputation there—Ketara's "stalker", as the more jealous ones liked to put it. She never spent more than ten minutes with him, though, and still the Dragon Knight felt his heart ache whenever she left. Never before had he felt so wanted. Wanted by everyone, except the one he needed the most.

Ralinn spent her days and nights writing essays by window light, discursive essays on the various thoughts she had when she was racing from the gardens to the inn and back again. Thoughts about the king and the guards and why he had changed his ways, so suddenly. Shirion joined her often, and they talked for many hours a day, from breakfast to dinner. But somehow, they never talked of moving on to the last part of the Spear.

Clynine and Lanoré never got any better with each other. The woman no longer wanted anything to do with the girl, and eventually that aloofness came to encompass the rest of the guild. She spent all her evenings in the far ends of the gardens, freezing the trees and shrubs into ice sculptures—only her own cunning kept her trail from being picked up. The only ones concerned with this change were Zethis and Ralinn—but the rest weren't at the inn often enough to notice.

Akera couldn't stop thinking. She was thinking, all the while, about how hard it would be to rally them for their final quest into the Goddess' Tower. But when the time came, she knew there would be a sign, and thus there would be a way. With the right planning, as she had learnt, anything was a possibility.

* * *

_zethis: light of a dream, reprised_

In his bed in the middle of the overbearing night, Zethis was tossing about beneath the sheets. In the dark, he could only long for light—and when he thought of light, he could only think of Clynine. Burying his face in his pillow, he sighed. What was this, this deep raging _need_ to see her again?

_What's wrong with me? _What was this strange, feverish feeling that had him in its net?

In his brooding, there came a knock on the door. Flung violently from his thoughts, the young White Knight sprang from his bed in utter fright, pulling back against the backboard. His breaths were restless and loud, all he heard for the next two seconds…

It came again. Swallowing, the young White Knight slipped out of the blankets, the cold coming almost instantly to grip his feet. Taking care to keep his feet upon the carpet, the youth crept as carefully as he could, blind in the night where only a sliver of moon filtered through the crack in the wall.

He reached out to where he knew his mace lay on the tabletop, picking it up and setting it aglow, feeling the metal grow warm with his Fire Charge.

Three more insistent knocks—and in the silence of the night, they were suddenly ghostly. Zethis proceeded to the door. Biting his lower lip in case he cried out in fear, he reached out, swallowed, and pulled it open—

"Zethis!" Clynine whispered from the doorway. She was in a pale nightgown, her eyes somehow so bright.

Zethis' first response was a cry of terror. "C-C-Clynine," he gasped, biting back his fear. "Why're you…here?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she whispered, tilting her head. Her smile was strange, unnatural even. "I can't sleep."

The male youth slowly he let himself smile, shyly. She might have been blushing, the way she glanced briefly away. He turned abruptly away, heat raging in his face. It was far beyond midnight, and here he stood, alone the most beautiful girl in the world…

"Can we…go somewhere?" whispered Clynine suddenly.

"Oh, where?" Needless to say, he was glad for the suggestion.

She giggled in the cold, defying the ice and their shared fears. She merely gestured for him to follow—and as she slipped away through the dimly torch-lit corridors, Zethis snatched up his fur jacket and gave chase, suddenly unafraid.

The late autumn night opened out above, and the night came to swallow them as they fled across the streets—safe from watching eyes, safe from the chase of duty and the scourge of obligation—free, if only for this hallowed hour of the night. Above them the moon was broken in half—half black, half white, like a chip from a dragon's eggshell.

Zethis breathed deeply in the next gale, pulling the jacket on. The night air was glistening with starlight, and as he ran, he found his steps slowing, his eyes soaking in the wondrous brilliance of the world around him.

When the youth next looked up, Clynine had already left; she was already at the bottom of the fortress, a vast marble staircase winding precariously to the top of the wall. With barely a second, the Cleric swiftly took off up the flight. "Clynine!" called the White Knight, almost worried that she'd fall. He followed fast, rising after her, rising and rising till he was out of the shadows, thrust into the windswept sky at the top of the wall.

He was on a road beside a huge drop to El Nath. _All over again._ Memories swept the White Knight away—memories of a wild chase and of the taste of fear, of robes and shadows raging above, of a doorway, a gateway, where a lone Cleric was waiting…

_The Orbis PQ; it's gone, isn't it? The place we met…_

Then he blinked, and the memory was rendered no more than that. Somewhere ahead of him, the Cleric turned and smiled. "Zethis!" she called, voice high and clear. "Zethis, come! The view's amazing!"

Zethis felt his heart leap—the way the moon shone in her back, it gave the illusion of angel wings. He recalled, for seconds, the moment when Dances with Balrog had taken his face to infuse him with the Page's powers. In his imagination, a brilliant presence had come to stand beside him, taking him in her wings…

Zethis arrived at Clynine's side as she came to lean against the balcony side and stretch her arms to the sky. "Never felt so good in my life!" she gasped into the wind. A few more clouds skirted away to uncover another section of the sky, and both turned, watching the tiny jewel points glitter in the blackness, still and suddenly afraid.

"I-it's strange." The sixteen-year-old Cleric's lonely words seemed to echo, as she glanced somewhere else. "You know…I couldn't sleep just now because I was thinking—about you. I kept thinking about what I'd say to you the next time I saw you. I was growing so…so afraid to meet you, you know? I—just couldn't stop. Is this very strange?"

Zethis knew his face was red by now, and he was utterly glad that no one could see. Distracting himself deliberately, he glanced down into the snow. Something glinted, a little far away—it was the mirror of the Party Quest, drifting aimlessly around the circumference of the building, levitating somewhere near the next bend of the wall. _Not lost after all. _The warrior would have laughed at the absurdity of the image—but he was too afraid of breaking the magic of this moment to do so.

"You know…I couldn't sleep either. And because…because I was thinking about _you._"

"Oh, then it's not strange at all, or else we're _both_ weird…" Voice pausing momentarily, she drew her arms around herself. "Oh, I should have worn more than just this…"

Suddenly, Zethis realized that she was in nothing but her sleepwear—and for a weak-bodied girl like her, the cold was probably twice as harsh. The youth gave a small exclamation of concern, but she shook her head with starlight-flooded eyes, sniffling and stepping a little closer.

"C-Clynine, it's not good for you," he managed to insist, feeling suddenly guilty for the thick fur jacket he wore over his sweater, over his shirt. He took the outermost layer off, panicking for her sake; the girl tried to refuse his offer, but he quickly draped his jacket over her shoulders anyway. The cold came rapidly upon him.

"You need it more than me," the White Knight protested when she tried to give it back.

"But Z-Zethis, then…_you'll_ be cold." She sniffed again, and rubbed her nose.

"Better than _you_ being cold," he replied earnestly, warmth rousing in the core of his soul, again. "I care about you…more than I care about me, y'know?"

That kept her silent for seconds. In those moments, the warrior began to feel the true cold bite of the frosty wind. How much worse the girl must have felt…

Two cold hands suddenly came to take his wrists. It was Clynine—not that it could have been anyone else—and she was pulling his arms, gently and slowly, to encircle her shoulders. When he attempted to tug them away in embarrassment, she only laughed sweetly and nestled herself against his body, head against his shoulder.

Now Zethis could only hope she couldn't hear how fast his heart was throbbing. "U—uh, Clynine—"

No. No, he wasn't ready to respond to this gesture. Not from a girl. Not like this. Not so close. Not _Clynine!_

_…She's so warm…_

"Thanks for caring," the Cleric's murmur was slightly sleepy, slightly ecstatic, high and comfortable.

"Oh…it's nothing," Zethis tried to respond, though his voice shook pitifully, almost pathetically _mousy_.

It was then that Clynine decided to spare him the trouble of carrying on with the conversation. Her movements grew more reserved, more tentative, and she seemed almost as if she were preparing to run away. "There's…a first for everything, you know," whispered the girl, voice quavering with more than the cold. "There's a first time for success, for failure…a first time to lose all confidence in yourself."

While Zethis silently contemplated these words, Clynine turned her back a little, just enough for him to see her smile. "This is a first for me," she said, eyes closing. "You, Zethis. I've never quite met someone like you…someone who doesn't force his presence upon everyone. Someone who will try carefully again and again—not all at one go." She laughed. "You always were so _nice_, Zethis."

"But…so were you, Clynine! So ready to…to agree with me, and make me feel like—like I was worth it."

"Oh, but you _are _worth it! More than that." She sighed, and now he could feel her every word and breath vibrating against his chest. Almost as if their hearts were beating in time. "This is a first for me, Zethis…"

"Your first time waking up at midnight and running to the top of a city?"

Her laugh this time was even merrier, and as dear as _dear _could be. "I suppose, but only because it's with you, Zethis. This is my…first time, falling in love."

And he knew should have gone faint with these words, his knees wanting to collapse or to take him running away. But half because of the cold and half because of shock, he wasn't doing anything. He couldn't think. He felt his head spin.

"I—I—Clynine!" he turned, flushing deeply. "Clynine…is this really…it? This thing that has chased me for two years…is this love?"

Clynine sighed deeply as the next vast gale came to caress them. She reached up to grip his hands, and at her touch he feared he might wilt. "It can't be…anything else, can it?"

_Clynine…? Do you, really? _

Far out beyond the stone barrier, the stars winked at the pair that stood midway into _their_ realm. Were they laughing? Zethis didn't really care anymore._ Is this what makes Akera so mad? Is this why Linn doesn't fear Akera's madness? Is this how it feels, to love someone who didn't give you anything, anything besides a reason to believe the best of the world…?_

Clynine sneezed, jerking far forward and leaving him suddenly cold. "D'you have tissue?" she muttered with a wobbly voice. "I forgot—" She sneezed twice now, giving an unwholesome sniffle.

"I'm so—sorry," answered Zethis apologetically. "Let's go back…I'm sorry…"

She smiled, wiping her nose in a very unbecoming way. "It was…my idea, wasn't it?"

Together they descended the grand staircase like falling stars into a canyon—and if not for Clynine's constant sniffling, it would have been the most magical minute in the world. Once back within the warmth of the inn's lobby, the pair came to a stop beside the waiting bench, Clynine blinking sleepily.

"It's…so…late," she whispered, eyes closing for moments. Zethis had wanted to stop her, but she sat exhaustedly down upon the bench a little too soon, sniffing a last time and leaning against the cushioned backrest.

_Oh, not here…it's not safe here…_

But she had already fallen asleep. And for fear of the strange things that could happen at night, he took the little empty space on the bench beside Clynine and fell into his own shallow sleep.

* * *

The pair was found the next morning by a group of other guests—but it was Ralinn who finally awakened them from their awkward position, squeezed together on the waiting bench of the inn.

"Uh—ah…argh!" Zethis' words were all but incoherent as he shifted first from drowsiness to confusion, then to acute embarrassment.

Ralinn stifled a laugh. "I won't ask," she answered, grinning widely still, while Clynine too began to remember and reddened almost as much as he did.

* * *

_nightfall: high hopes and war songs_

The HQ dining room was unfamiliar today. Every table had been pushed to the walls, making way for the high noise of the battlers as they readied their potion stocks and sharpened weapons, making final checks on their armour while they conversed about the coming mission.

Oh, how grand their hopes! They would change the world today. The air itself held its breath; the clouds were high and grey, as had reported Coelion from his short recon mission. But they wouldn't be breaking today—no, not today, upon the masters of the night.

The Chief Bandit's report had been taken far too lightly for an organized guild like theirs—but Pelinor was in a good mood today. His eyes were bright, brighter than they had been for years, these years that were waning for him too fast.

_Today, and then I can rest in peace, _he had said. Merely thirty-five, but with enough scars to permanently cripple a lesser man. _My times is coming, I know it is—I've fled death too often. But now my name shall be written beside Thaemis' and Lanoré's, and future heroes will be glad to have theirs written beside mine!_

Then Pelinor was at the front of the hall again. The Hero called, and everyone stood at attention. When the man spoke, he spoke with his heart and his history. Today, they would take his words, and keep them forever.

"My Nightfall, my dearest Nightfall, we stand here at the edge of the next era," he roared. The roar returned a hundredfold—and in its raging swell, he felt his heart soar like the eagle in the sun. "Here we stand, a hundred men and women who have not listened what the King decreed with those empty words. A hundred outcasts, destined for death, saved from shadow! We have learnt the art of the Goddess, of the Dragon, and it will be the death of the tyrant today!"

Vast applause. Rousing whoops of approval, as if the battle had been won. _For the battle _has_ been won—by spirit, by strength! He will never best us, that cold heart of his—Fate knows it too well; hate and evil never win!_

With a wide grin, amidst the cheers that swelled higher and higher, Pelinor took up the regal roar of a king on his own, of one who would had been downed once, and would never be downed again. A phoenix, risen from the ashes.

"I was trained a Warrior, a Fighter, a Crusader. And now, I am called a Hero by profession. But until he earns it, a hero does not have a right to his title! Today we shall _earn it_—not just I, but every man, every woman, every child in this hall. Today we will unhand the king's grip. He will release the chain—and we will be heroes of Victoria!"

The walls shook like they never had. The forest boughs swayed in the gales, sheltering, shielding, from the king beyond, from ears that would never hear the warmth in these words.

"Forward, first army!" he commanded, raising a fist. The pages flung the gates open, gates to the rustling forest, to winds that whirled through the hall and echoed in the eaves like a war song, a sky song. "Forward, and do your job well!"

And then, the charge had begun.

* * *

Between the shadows of the bridges, Lanoré raised her gaze to the storm-clouds—it was as if the blue of the sky had fallen and become trapped in her eyes.

She could feel _its _weight in her pocket, growing heavier every time she took a step in any direction.

Somewhere along the line, she had forgotten why she still carried the accursed Neck with her wherever she went. Perhaps it was a false sense of need that the item was subtly slipping beneath her skin. Perhaps it was the constant, possibly false, memory of an order to hold it safe.

But she continued to carry it with her anyway, feeling her soul and life grow more and more inseparably tangled with its black roots at her every heartbeat.

* * *

_akera: to the tune of fate_

Akera gazed though the windows. What was that strange soaring feeling? It was like a bell chiming in the distance.

_This is the day, _it sang.

The month was almost at its end, and everyone was somewhere outside, living their dreams. The Mage herself had spent every day with a scarf over her head to hide her hair, reading the newspapers daily, spotting mentions everywhere of Lanoré.

This was done in cafes while sipping latte, every Monday and Thursday when she wasn't out winning Omok tournaments. Over her month embraced by the warmth of the cafe and the whispers of conversation around her, Akera found herself mellowing. She could imagine, suddenly, that she was a different person. _No Ralinn, no Shirion, no Orion's Belt. No need to hate myself, or to hate anyone else._

The drink between her warm palms often reminded her of the old colour of her hair, of all things—and in its swirls, she found herself thinking of times long lost, times she knew she'd never recover.

Sunken into her old world she had been, a world with no embers and only blue bolts between her palms. And raindrops staining the window, beyond curtains from the sea. She had almost lost herself again, and learnt once more the truth of happiness.

But the newspapers had never ceased to remind her of reality, day in and day out. There were written stories of families being burned to death for having three children. Stories of men and women locked into the mines for defiance. Stories, over and over, of a new hostile in the gardens of Orbis that could only be _Lanoré_.

_This is the day! Come, Akera! Fate calls upon you!_

The voice of Time? She had grown to love the stagnated peace so, walking the streets and peering into shop-house windows. Why should she listen? Why should she break open the windows of her calm remembered world, reenter that disgusting world of shadows above?

But decide as she may, duty was calling, too loudly to ignore. A duty to the world that had given her life. There was a reason, and a rhyme, and a call that reached only to _her. _Akera. The one who couldn't be turned away from duty by joy and by hate.

_This is for me, _she thought, rising from her seat, draining her cup of coffee. She returned the papers to the rack, gave her robes a sweep—and with that she was out on the streets.

Down the roads she flew. The sky was heavy with the first storm of winter, and she knew that El Nath would suffer its worst, though Orbis would not be spared. Flowerless El Nath, frozen centuries ago. As she crossed the paths to the garden where the shop-houses led, she put together all she had learnt in the last thirty days.

The grand red shape of the King's End rose gradually into existence at the edge of the road. The cobblestones rippled past as Akera ran, focusing her gaze upon the shape of the door ahead. _Now, now or never! The two windows are crossing and soon they will be one! _

_Fate calls. Fate, who already knows all the answers._

Then the door was right before her, and gripping her staff with madness, she got ready to pull the most amazing manoeuvre yet.

* * *

The first inkling of forebodingthat Ketara had was the slamming of the bar door into the wall. Almost simultaneously, every head within the bustling room turned to the source of the noise, mouths opening in synchrony—

_"Akera!"_

Ketara turned—the exclamation had come from somewhere else. _Telida, _his mind pounded. Here in the bar, as always. Watching him, his dark angel. _Oh, Telida…_

But he didn't have the time to seek her out. Before him, something flashed red, brilliant ruby red. And everything collapsed inwards.

_FIRE ARROW!_

Streaks of flame, screaming between the tables, scattering customers, their drinks toppling and their feet scrabbling on the planks to flee their sure, sharp courses. A table was blown apart, and the drinkers dashed back in frenzy. The crazy girl at the door, she was at the door no longer—suddenly amidst the havoc, skin glowing orange with an _imminent_—

_EXPLOSION!_

Flickering white hair, burnt at the edges. The tables rippled like carpets in the wind, buckling in the heat and rearing up against wooden walls. Men and women kicked and shoved to flee the attack—in one swoop the female Mage's attack had flattened them all to the floorboards.

Who was this crazy person?

Her ice-blue glare shot in Ketara's direction—_get over here now _was written in the Fire Poison Mage's eyes. The Dragon Knight began to run…

_"Disorder is foul. Disorder must be righted." _

Then the guardian woman had had enough—and she rose, her necromancer's cloak around her like black wings. Her voice wasn't a human's; it was that of a chained servant, tormented into corpse-likeness.

_"Disorder is evil. Disorder must turn to uniformity."_

Her staff gleamed violet—then black.

Akera snarled at the two again, more urgently—no more, for she was wreaking more havoc in the lowlight of the bar. Fire roared again, and tables collapsed in blackness, screams of horror exploding through the air like rockets.

_Come! _Her command was so frightening that Ketara instantly dashed across, raging his path through the throngs of flailing bodies around him. Telida was swifter, sparing them no mercy.

"You two kids _could_ be more punctual!" Akera snapped as they arrived, glancing agitatedly about. "We need to get out of here without them noticing we're gone. Do you have your weapons?"

Telida flashed a star from the inner pocket of her dark leather jacket. "Left it with the keeper," answered Ketara as quietly as he could. Akera glanced about once more to see if anyone was watching. The entire bar was embroiled in a huge, violent mass of fist-fights, half-drunk customers taking their inebriated anger out on each other.

"Now if my intuition served me correctly," she murmured, "There will be a sign any moment now…"

At that very moment, two things happened. The first was that a bolt of necromancer lightning shot straight in their direction—it would have knocked Telida's arm straight off her, had it come just an inch lower. Instead it grazed her shoulder, and that was enough to set them into motion.

And the second was a sudden familiar shout, just moments after they turned to run.

"Ooh, bar fight?"

* * *

Raydan had just finished the second street on his delivery round, and had come to the King's End to collect his next batch of milk. But almost immediately, he had realized that something was amiss—smoke was billowing through the windows. Interest mounting rapidly, the nosey Sniper had then hopped over to the door, peering inside…

Only to find himself facing a far greater chaos than he could have been prepared for.

Flames blazed hungrily over fallen tables, broken people, devouring spilt puddles of beer like mad ghosts. And of course, his mind had come to the easiest conclusion.

"Ooh, bar fight?"

No sooner had he spoken those words, than the shouting rose again with voracity, swallowing whatever silence could have been—and from its midst, he thought he heard the two syllables of his name…

_"Raydan!"_

_Akera—_and she looked flaming mad. Mad with joy, if he could say so himself—but Raydan had no time to conclude, because suddenly he was being dragged back by a pair of hands—one Ketara's, the other Telida's.

"Lida!" he gasped, a wide smile spreading across his bewildered face.

"Quick!" Akera whispered harshly in response, rapping him on the head before speeding urgently off. On they raced, towards the storage keeper deep in the marketplace. Ketara sprang to the counter, exchanging his tag for his stored weapon. With nothing but a short thank-you, they were off again, Akera leading them through the bustling market streets towards an unknown destination. Faces around them were turning to stare rather often now, more often than Raydan found comfortable.

"At this rate, the necromancers will be upon us in no time," sputtered the Sniper.

"That's what the bar was for," was the Mage's hasty answer. "To stall them so they're slower to find us—and when they _do_ find us, in a smaller force. Now, the gardens—"

But something had distracted the entire group. Ketara had come to a sudden stop, and now he was shouting and waving frantically across the street.

"Zethis! Clynine!" he yelled, arms flailing madly as the other three came to a halt, and the pair on the opposite sidewalk turned with surprise all over their faces.

Instantly, Raydan was upon them. "I see you've finally gotten together!" he exclaimed with a wide grin. Clynine was the first to snap out, waving excitedly back and racing across the street. Zethis quickly followed.

"I suppose shopping will have to come later," sighed the Cleric.

Akera looked slightly heartened by their arrival. "Shopping will probably have to come after we defeat the king," she replied. "After the Shard, it'll—"

"Shard?" answered all five at the same time.

"It's the fourth part, the source of energy, the frozen vial of the Goddess' blood," the white-haired Mage's explanation was swift as they resumed progress. "We won't be having Shirion and Ralinn with us today—or Turino for that matter. But we need Lanoré. So, do you have your weapons?" Akera seemed almost expectant when Zethis and Clynine revealed the mace and staff, both commenting on how they had decided to take the weapons along today _just in case._

"Alright—you might not be ready for what we're about to do—but this will go right, I can promise it to you."

Ketara looked the most thrilled at this piece of news. Raydan couldn't help but feel the lurch in his stomach that told him, _this involves pulling some crazy stunt and surviving it somehow._ But then again, he was used to it.

* * *

The gardens of Orbis were some of the finest in Ossyria, second only to Mu Lung's in many books. This beauty, however, had just begun to be ravaged by the very woman for whom they were now searching—and whatever remained of it presently went completely unnoticed.

The presence of Lanoré wasn't found; it was felt. Even in the cascading white snow, the air grew yet colder. And the strange formations around them on the flowerbeds—the perennial flowers of Orbis were jagged stalagmites of glassy ice, all the way along the pathway from here to the arch at the end—they told them that the woman was close at hand.

She was under the arch—beside the bridge, where the walls were low enough to make anyone else feel terrified.

"Lanoré!" Akera exclaimed with a smile, forcing herself forward in a final burst even though she was panting, breaths almost visible in the sluggish winter air. "Lanoré, we're going now—"

She turned as they approached, and there was some sort of calm to her. "You, Clynine," she leered softly. "Have you seen what's become of the flowers?" Everyone turned to the Cleric. She clenched her teeth as her face began to redden, fists curling into balls…

_Rustle._

It was _then_ that the blackness began to rise. _Everywhere._ In the bridge swaying far ahead, so innocently—in the ice statues that lined the roads—in the shadows behind the stones.

The invisible snare had been sprung again. A snare made for the Archmage.

With Akera's first cry of despair, the sky began to wilt around them like a spoilt painting. Telida shrieked in fury—snatching Ketara's arm for security. Clynine and Zethis backed away. Raydan cursed.

And Lanoré—

The woman was walking calmly forwards. One step, one step—arms wide as she discarded her Blade Staff at her side. The Lithium staves rose in a robotic, synchronized motion around her. Still Lanoré walked.

"Lanoré! Stop that! Come back!" Akera's voice was high, desperate. She knew she was in a deadlock. Her eyes were upon Lanoré's staff, and she was aware of everything, of every move that was about to be made. If she dipped to snatch the staff, they would fire. If she shouted, they would fire too, and where could they go to avoid it…?

Then, she saw the location of the only opening.

In front of them, the Archmage gave a high cackle. "Come, necromancers! Give me all you have!"

_Lanoré—she won't follow orders! Not in this state—_

Desperate times, desperate measures.

A great crackling suddenly flooded the air in a hot surge, linking one cloaked creature to another. Akera knew how long it took to charge and fire a lethal magic attack. Five seconds. Five seconds—and that was all the time she had to form all the options, to choose the right one, to calculate all the angles, to ready her heart and mind for what was about to happen.

She was done by the first second.

_This is the only way we'll survive. Who cares about the risk?_

If they waited, only death would come. If they took the shot, then there was a chance they would survive. But that was only if Fate didn't choose this time to play a prank on them—which it _well_ might.

And yet it was the only way they could go now. And despite all her misgivings for how narrow the probabilities were, how absurdly dangerous an act she was about to commit—she let her heart take control. Her eyes narrowed on the distance, focusing, and her voice screamed the command:

_"TWO O'CLOCK—JUMP!"_

And the black-red lightning bloomed.

Her heartbeat pushed her forward. She fell to a squat to snatch the weapon—sprang with her every drop of strength in a straight diagonal trajectory towards Lanoré—a path that would inevitably pass between two necromancers, past them, towards the edge of Orbis—

The blaze swelled, timing the milliseconds.

Cries beyond her, of her friends shooting past. But she was blind, and she didn't know what they were doing. She was flying on the strength of her legs, screaming as she smashed into Lanoré, arms outstretched. And together they continued to soar, on the path she had planned—passing between the cloaks of the necromancers, barely scraping past the blaze of the heat…

And her inertia was enough to carry them both. To the edge of the garden. Across it.

_This is the gamble._

_"Akera!" _shrieked Lanoré, as the wall vanished beneath them, and all that remained below was half a mile of sky. "Akera, put me down! Put me _down!_"

_You're going crazy, Lanoré. Maybe you're past your prime._

And sky rose to engulf them, lightning closing in overhead like a furnace.

Falling, straight, out of safety and into utter helplessness. The sky raced past. For seconds, Akera thought she had been ultimately wrong, that at last her guesses had failed, and her doom had arrived.

_I knew it'd happen eventually…_

Then, she saw it beneath them—just a glimmer. A piece of reflected sky.

_"Risk anything and everything—you will make it in and out, completely safe."_

It was the mirror.

Akera finally understood. _This _was why the mirror of the Party Quest was behaving erratically. Through Arelyn's promise, their safety had been irrefutably guaranteed. Time had _known_ all along that she would make this move. Time had positioned all the variables perfectly for the event—her guild mates, the necromancers, the mirror—

By the Clock Spirit—the promise had already been fulfilled, even before she had asked.

They tumbled through clouds together, reaching terminal velocity and feeling their skin burn. The mirror was larger than they had thought, they realised as they plummeted steadily towards the great object. And suddenly it was everywhere around them, wider than an ocean, inviting them inside and swallowing them up in the coldness of glass.

* * *

_hyrien: rainfall_

All around Henesys, the winds were roaring. The castle roads were raging with weapons, singing above the howl of the sky. As long as their comrades battled well, there would be no guards to meet their assault from the remote dump site. The gate would be open for them, and completely to their disposal.

The last of the trees finally passed behind them, and they were out on dirt road. Ahead of him, the White Knight's comrades were surging down the road to the dump gates. Even here, he could smell the stench of the king's trash—rotting fruit rinds and discarded meat, meat that could have gone to better use on another's table.

Deserted. _Perfect._ And they dashed down the dust path to the end, weapons drawn, the gates creaking open, arch rising around them like a great skeletal mouth. Beyond it, stacks of rubbish spread all the way across the barren quarter-acre expanse…

And that was when they realised that everything—was—_wrong_.

Behind the gates at the far end of the dump, there waited a force. An entire force of guards, faceless armour visors peering through the shadows like ghosts.

_Clang._

The inner gate was flung open, and a flood of crashing metal, bound by the bars no longer, roared forward like a river over a broken dam. Not like the guards in the deeps of Perion or in the perimeter of the Ellinia Station. The king's very best force, trained since birth to protect their master's grand lair.

"This is the test that will prove us worthy!" Suddenly came Pelinor's call, unsheathing his sword in the grey light. As one, they drew their weapons. _"To the gates!"_

And at once, the battle for the gates had begun. There was an ocean of armour everywhere, not belonging to any one man but to all of them at the same time—within their shells they were identical. But Nightfall could not be intimidated by mere metal. The guards fought with swords and spears and bayonets, fashioned to knife-sharpness by the captured talents within the darkest factories of the world. But so what? They didn't have the passion and love with which _real _humans fought.

Hyrien hadn't the time to think—spears were suddenly crashing against his flailing golden mace, a storm of battlers ringing beyond the flickering heads around him. All he could do was take up his part with all his strength—parry every blow, return twofold, smash where he could and part the throngs of armoured guards.

And all the while, he was beginning to feel _it_ again—a gripping, slithering coldness, like a snake in the pits of his stomach.

_They knew we were coming, all along. They knew we'd try—and they were ready for us._

Pelinor's cry. A flash of his broadsword, and a guard's helmet flying, rattling into the dust. All around him, he heard a roar of approval, a roar of fear, a surge of thunder. Hyrien felt the fury tug at his blood too.

But though he knew he should have charged, he could now only stare at the man who had lost his helmet, the crest of the guard captain embossed in his armour. Esharo, the one who had betrayed his side half a year ago.

_And what if he will help us again…?_

_It's worth the try._ With that singular thought, the White Knight barrelled through a row of guards, shoulder connecting with armour, sending the guard collapsing into a rubbish heap. "Esharo!" the warrior shouted and forced his way through a last row of guards with his impregnable mace, slipping across the last mound of rubbish. "Esharo, tell them to stop! This can be settled!"

With a swing of the spear, Esharo whirled around, sending the point flashing through Hyrien's vision for seconds—before he straightened, suddenly. "Hyrien—" the guard gasped, withdrawing rapidly. "But how? How can this end with neither of us losing? I am the guard captain, Hyrien, and your escape is my failure!"

"You owe me, Esharo!" shouted the warrior suddenly. "The deal, Esharo. I let you off last time. Now it's your turn."

"But—but this involves my _life,_ Hyrien! This time I can't lie, about defeating you—"

It was during this moment of their arbitration that in the corner of his vision, Hyrien suddenly caught sight of Pelinor's advance from behind. On Esharo. Grinning, almost madly, as he slipped, slipped soft across the barren earth, drew his sword _over…his…head…_

Instinct gripped Hyrien there and then, in a descending whirlpool of flickers. _Esharo is a good man._ _Esharo is a friend. Esharo will help us one day._

And instinct commanded him to save the guard.

_"Behind you!"_

Esharo whirled out of the way, moments before Pelinor's broadsword shot past—it would have caught his neck and sent his head flying if he had stayed. For seconds, the guard stood panting with horror, his face twisted with the mortifying fear.

And Pelinor—he was fuming suddenly, his body slowing to a stop. "Hyrien! I don't _believe_ you!" the Guild Master roared, almost drunk. Yet beneath those layers of fury, there was something else—a speechless terror, at what he had just seen. "You just—_saved a guard_, Hyrien. You just—saved him."

Suddenly, the guilt was burning in Hyrien's throat, his fists clenching. Pelinor was right. _I betrayed his trust…didn't I? _It whirled in his ears, louder than the sounds of battle. He wanted to apologise_—_but what was the use when he didn't feel his words? What could he say now…

If only he had not been thinking so hard.

"Filthy scum of the lower people!" Esharo's voice was suddenly a bear's bellow, his eyes narrowed, his lance glinting. In his stance was hatred of years—years chasing this delinquent named _Pelinor_, years of allowing him to breed discord among the people. "You've run too long, Pelinor. You've created enough problems. You will—end—_today!_"

And while the Crusader's eyes were fixed upon Hyrien, while Hyrien was only staring in numb horror, Esharo primed his weapon, grip tightening—

And he thrust the point of the spear straight, straight, slipping between the plates of Pelinor's adamantium armour, through skin and sinew, into the wall of his abdomen.

The guard wanted more. With a fury and brashness so _unlike_ him, Esharo wrenched the weapon upwards with all his weight. The spear ripped up through the Crusader, rode into his ribcage, tore his lungs open.

In the dark sky, the battle must have frozen.

It was everywhere, everywhere—Pelinor's voice thundered and thundered and fell from the sky in scatters of blood.

"_Hyrien!_" That was the great Crusader's last sanguine, dying moan. So disbelieving it was almost murderous. _"HY—"_

His cry gurgled away into blood. Lifeblood shot in streams from where the spear disappeared into his skin, staining his armour plates in red. Flames leapt in his eyes, and then he sank, sank, sank, a candle doused by rain…

_Rain._

The sky finally broke to pieces. Suddenly, the greyness was flooding from heaven in streams of tears, upon the windows and sidewalks of Henesys, staining them black.

"PELINOR!" Hyrien could only feel himself gasp, as his hair began to plaster itself to the sides of his face in the downpouring wetness. His breath wheezed once—he knew he wanted to cry, but he had forgotten how; he could only let his sword to fall into the slushy puddles at his feet, eyes burning empty. Esharo was staring at the bloodied pile he had made—the huge man who had survived five stabs near his heart, forty broken bones, and at least a hundred arrows.

The rain soaked through his hair and rolled down his motionless face, making a messy pool of blood among the rinds and peels of the king's unwanted food. His time had come, at last. But it wasn't the hero's ending he had always believed to be his fate.

Filthy, ruined, without glory.

Esharo turned around, a little sorrow in his gaze. Brown rain-sodden hair fell over his cloud-grey eyes, and all too soon he glanced away. "Your price is paid," he murmured. "Go away now. Please." A pause. The battle had been abandoned, for the three most high-ranked had stalled. "Return, guards. And Hyrien, go away!"

Hyrien took the cue this time. Somehow, his head was spinning too much, perhaps with the rain or with exhaustion, for any of the truths to actually register. He glanced at his soaked guild mates, trudging away from the muddied field as a group, eyes downcast, hefting their old Guild Master's body amongst themselves. As he approached, they smiled sadly.

They didn't know what he had done. They thought Pelinor had died a martyr's death—but in fact he had died because of a White Knight's stupidity!

The same one that was about to claim the guild as his own.

"Looks like we're yours now," smiled Window sadly, patting the warrior's back with a wet gloved hand—not that Hyrien could feel it; his armour made him numb and his unshed tears made him number.

All his life, he had lived in a lie. He had lied about Esharo, he had lied about his feelings towards his impending leadership. Now he would lie about Pelinor, for as long as the lie would last.

_But I cannot tell them, can I? I can only finish Pelinor's task, just as every heir must do for his predecessor. Nightfall can recover, and Nightfall can certainly rise again, better than before._

_But can _I_…?_

* * *

It wasn't so strange a feeling anymore, falling through the glass and finding themselves in another world. What _was_ strange was that instead of inverting on its head as before, the world simply stood still as the seven landed on what appeared to be a featureless stone balcony.

"Oh, my…" murmured Ketara, first to rise. He walked to the edge of the balcony—then rapidly backed away when he realised what was there. "Oh, Dragon of Life…how far down _is _the ground?"

Silently, Clynine crawled over to the side to look—and she jerked backwards, shaking violently. Where _was _the ground…

"Here by accident?"

All seven jerked to attention, glancing about in shock. The source of the shout was found all too soon—_she_ drifted in midair atop a majestically black horse, rider and mount both so graceful it was almost _godly_.

But why was her weapon pointed in their direction, and why did she look so angry?

"This place is inhabited; I thought as much," murmured Akera. The woman swooped low on horseback, her long shocking-violet hair glimmering in the light from below.

"Since Time Itself began," answered the woman stiffly. "I am the guardian. You are intruders."

"Mirrors can only be turned into doorways by the four great deities, isn't that so?" Akera mused in response. "Are you Her daughter or Her minion?"

Completely missing the point, though.

"I am none."

Though her posture was all hostility, the woman's voice was strangely charming. Her suit of black armour followed her figure closely—revealing not much, but enough to impress some people in the guild.

"Heh, you're cute," murmured Raydan with a lecherous smile. "Looks like Lida isn't the only one…" He was silenced by a slap from Telida. Clynine almost giggled. Same old Raydan, even in another world, even threatened by an armoured guard on a black dragon horse.

Akera was no different from her normal self either. Regardless of the aim of the woman's halberd, regardless of the hauntingly hostile glare in her brilliant blue eyes, she asked her questions. "'None'? Who are you? Why were you placed here?" Close to Akera, Lanoré was murmuring to herself about the foolishness of youths. Zethis had crawled to Clynine's side, and in the silence, he reached out to grip her hand. "We'll be okay," he whispered over to her. She smiled back, thankful.

All of a sudden, the pair realised that the woman was staring oddly at them and lowering her weapon. "I am Deina, guardian of Mirror-Orbis Tower," she told Akera. "We weren't _placed_ here; we were _locked_ here until the end of time. When this world crumbles away, we will be free—but won't we crumble together with it?" Then she paused, turning back to Clynine and Zethis. "And you two, you are an adorable couple."

Akera watched as the deity's horse flew closer, and the "adorable couple" grew very red in the face, trying to take attention away from themselves. The Mage went on, dead on task. "You must know why we are here then," she said simply.

Deina looked a little sad as she drew backwards. "Then you will play your part, and I will play mine," the woman sighed, rising a little higher, taking her halberd…

_Bzzzing. _A purple flash. Without any realisation that anything was about to happen—Akera felt something hot catch her in the waist, blasting her backwards so she staggered, a burning sensation coming to twine itself around her abdomen.

_Where did that magic come from? A polearm…as a staff?_

"But can my friends fight?" she asked, snatching her staff just as quickly, to fire a counter-attack.

"What do you think I have spent ten millennia doing?" answered Deina gloriously, flying a circle so Akera's flaming shot flew uselessly wide, landing on the balcony so she divided them from their only path into the tower. "Fight if you please! So much time, so little to do… I've learnt every secret already!"

Something of a cruel grin came to her features. A furious spiral, and suddenly another bolt caught Akera's shoulder—while Deina was gone she gripped her staff and made a dash for the window—but the woman was between them again, far too fast.

"Oh, what's this? I was hoping fate would send me a worthier opponent!"

Staggering within exhaustion, Akera began to hear footsteps from behind. First, she was aware of Clynine, sending walls of green into the sky, banishing her wounds—then Telida with her stars, black blades spinning through the wind and snipping off sections of Deina's hair. In ten seconds, everyone else was there—even Lanoré with her half-addled mind, firing away with all the talent of the legendary Archmage she was.

Deina was merely a fallible being. But for a battle against fallible being, this was going horribly wrong. Somehow too fast, too agile, too ready. Why weren't there any more than a few patches of soot on her armour? Why wasn't she faltering at all? Why were they suddenly so _slow_?

Then she knew. It was her flight. She was enchanting them, distracting them, making them dizzy. She was flying in circles, drawing pictures to take their attention away.

_Enchantment by illusion is foolish._ _We have to be ruthless!_ Akera caught glimpses of her friends, half-there, half-watching, like children at a show. The Mage snapped her eyelids shut.

_No, no questions. She's trying to make us forget to fight. No mercy. No mercy._

The next spell rose suddenly along the length of her staff—a spark on a dynamite fuse, threading itself like a golden bead from her fingers up to the tip of the weapon, spitting sparks into the air. She thrust the weapon upwards—and a pattern of fire erupted from its point, flowering overhead.

Everyone was still for involuntary seconds, watching. Spirals of flame, like the paths of the vultures, like the circlets of the Goddess. The battlers were caught like fish in a net of stars, and now she knew it was time to shatter the spell—

_EXPLOSION—_

And she had thought victory hers.

But an instant before the spell peaked, Veriun shot upwards, _a hopelessly daring move_ the Mage had thought—before thundering currents of wind exploded from the horse's wings, roaring around Akera in an intangible dome so the flames could only curl inwards upon their creator. Her eyes flew open a split second early, barely in time for her to gasp, _no, _throw up her arms, and defend herself from her own attack.

The sky cracked, opened right out, her flames tearing the air. When they dwindled, and as the blaze dissipated, she glanced about in momentary relief—and shrieked.

A streak of metal, shooting through the fading smoke. A blade-point like a lightning bolt, far too fast—a straight, sharp jab of pain in her left shoulder—

Before her next thought hit her, curtains of green light were suddenly dancing up around her, the wound closing. She gasped from the vigour suddenly returning—and at once her lucidity struck her like a slap. "It'd be great if the rest of you could help too!" she exclaimed. "You'll cover the holes that I can't. Interlock your vision with everyone else's, fight in a space where you know someone else is blind—"

Deina had swooped up in their moments of distracted learning, circling beneath the balcony and rising in a steep swerve from behind, halberd outstretched and crackling.

But they were ready now. Telida was the one who caught her, vision ambient, reflexes lightning. The instant she noticed the guardian's approach from behind, she sprang and somersaulted fiercely, dodging the bolt and firing five stars backwards in the seconds she was upside-down—

All six turned. Four stars spun away with terrifying swiftness, striking her armour, ricocheting uselessly with bright _ping_s.

But the fifth, the fifth made a miraculous arc that slotted the projectile straight through a gap in the woman's neck armour. Half a second later, a deep cut had been slit, and a rapid gush of glowing silver blood came flooding through the newly-opened wound.

Deina gasped. Ahead of her Telida landed, back facing the minor deity, her boots not sliding an inch as she turned smartly around and appraised her work.

_This is the chance! _came the realisation. Akera quickly nodded to the rest, aware that the battle had hardly ended. Zethis was the one to make the leap this time, surprises of surprises. Despite her wound, Deina grinned at the sight of the golden Judgment. They played the game for a while. But soon she had had enough, and she swooped in a dizzying spiral, descending with ease like a falcon on its prey, weapon flung out in the same deadly attack that had caught Akera in the shoulder—

Then arrived the return.

Raydan shouted in triumph, moments before two blazing Soul Arrows twanged from his crossbow and found marks in Veriun's neck. "Gotcha!" he yelled. With a siren-like whinny, the horse reared in midair and began to spiral through the air, crunching hard into the white stones, and Deina with her.

And at the sight of the fallen bodies, Akera sprang into attack by instinct, and all around her the rest were doing the same—Telida with her pocket daggers, Zethis' mace flashing in the sun, Ketara twisting the winds with his spear—with a speed that gave Deina no chance to respond.

* * *

Somehow it hurt Clynine to know that the woman had no time to tend to her mount. But she knew that Orion's Belt's success also hinged on Deina's defeat, and they could offer no mercy in exchange for their world's redemption.

_No mercy._

The woman was into the fight again, too strong despite her mortal wound. Her polearm crashed against mace and spear, such a valiant fight for someone so small, so defenceless, so handicapped.

Clynine couldn't bring herself to move forward. She watched as Lanoré tore down the woman's defences with rapid ease, lightning jerking her to a standstill every five seconds for the melee attackers to make their strikes. Veriun raised her head to cry, and let it fall again, tail flicking in helpless despair.

The Cleric closed her eyes to its plight. There was no time to let mercy delude her.

_But…this isn't mercilessness. It's injustice. The horse never did any wrong. Deina never did anything wrong. They're just doing their job, the job they were locked here to perform, forever._

"Clynine! You irresponsible _idiot_! Come here and heal us!" gasped Lanoré furiously, eyes wide as the halberd caught the corner of her chin.

The battle had proceeded to the edge of the balcony. At once Clynine felt a vast dizziness engulf her—then a voice called again: Zethis moaning within the next clamour of metal. Horrified, the Cleric squeezed her eyes shut and ran. _Heal!_ she called silently, and watched as green lights gathered around the rest.

Morale boosted by a row of sudden fortunes, the battle grew more violent, the guardian falling back, further, further, further. The edge was coming so close, the steep drop to _nowhere, _the drop that Veriun couldn't save her mistress from any longer…

But she was spared that fate. _"Genesis!"_ Clynine screamed.

Deina, undefeatable Deina, gave a cry as she was flung to the ground by a blast of angelic light, her weapon ringing on the stones as she moaned in the flame. With a gasp of guilt, Clynine ran forward, dragging the others away from the edge. Amidst them lay the guardian—body crumpled, lips pale. She struggled and rose slightly on her elbow, reaching out for them, a hand that was ignored.

"Come, let's go," was Akera's command, and they raced away, as the guardian cried in dismay and watched them disappear through the window.

* * *

The shadows parted, and they breathed in surprise. A broken chandelier lay on the floor as they entered.

_Come,_ came a whisper down the airways. _Bring Darkness to me._

The doorway was at the top of the wall, but accessing it would be no problem—Deina had carved her own footholds in the walls. One after another they climbed towards the doorway, ascending the overturned staircases towards the roar of the upside-down ocean above.

_Come, _Light called.

At last, they emerged from the last flight of stairs and set foot in the top room—and fell into reverent silence. Through the windows shone a sunlit ocean, an ocean that flooded through the doorway to lap at the ceiling and the stone benches, spraying against the walls.

A ray of light caught Zethis' eye. He turned—a blinding beam of sunlight streamed from the far corner of the room, where a diamond-shaped hole had been cut, filtering through the dust to touch the facing wall.

And at their feet, the ground was all water—all except for a narrow ledge around the edges. In the centre of the pool was a lit chandelier, faceted diamonds sparkling in the brilliance of its candles. This one was special. It hadn't fallen; it floated vertically upwards from within the pool, as if gravity were still pulling from above.

"Well, so you see it," came a sudden whisper from the doorway above. "If you want the Shard, the ray must touch the chandelier, then the chandelier must be extinguished."

Everyone turned—in the doorway stood a panting Deina, now climbing down the wall in awkward bumps and drops. She was haggard from the battle, hair tangled and stained silver, Veriun leaping down through the doorway after her. But she could smile.

"What you've managed is marvellous, but now you must test Time and Fate. On the day when the Shard is meant to be taken, the sun will align itself so the ray will touch the chandelier. But to take it, you cannot touch the water. It is merciless to sinner and sin, and I learnt that the painful way…"

"Sinner?" murmured Akera suddenly, before turning with suspicion in her eyes. Zethis thought he might melt, the way her light of her blue eyes slashed through him, then shifted to the next. Somehow, he feared he knew what she was thinking—and almost too quickly, he was proven right.

"This has to be why our guild members were chosen this way!" she concluded, walking towards them, fixing her gaze irremovably upon Clynine. "Clynine, it has to be you—Grendel called you 'pure' once. You are the one meant to retrieve the last piece. You must go across the water, to the chandelier."

From the back of the group, Clynine gasped. "But it can't be!" was her defence. "When I joined, I was never supposed to be anything more than—" She froze, painfully long.

"…more than…Lanoré's servant, wasn't I?"

Zethis turned, and saw the terror in those wide brown eyes—and at once, he knew he could not leave her to take this alone. He walked quickly over, took hold of her hand between his palms, and closed his eyes. "Clynine, don't feel forced to do this," he whispered. "But if you can—it's the only way we will win."

Clynine's eyes softened, and she smiled a little. "It's always you," she murmured. "You're always the one saving me. Like a knight and his princess, almost…" Withdrawing her hand, she turned around and nodded to Akera, taking her staff.

And on the Cleric went, step after confident step, on towards the pure pool at the heart of the room.

_clynine: the cathedral bell_

As Clynine approached the stone bank of the water pool, she touched a foot to its surface, and leapt away when all she felt was an icy sheet, like glass.

_Am I sinless then? This cannot be…_

She could feel seven gazes trained upon her. Swallowing from nerves, Clynine took her first step into the water, allowing her full weight to rest on it; she cried out as her feet shook slightly, breeze stirring the water—but soon it returned to stillness, and the only sound was the tide overhead.

Braver now, the young Cleric continued to walk. She held her breath, hoping that there were no surprises waiting. Her footsteps grew gentle, and she shivered from the cold…

Now, something _did_ happen.

It didn't surprise her at first. The water beneath her feet began to glow from under the surface, but it failed to perturb the Cleric. On she walked, continuing to be unsurprised, though the waves were rising and her footing slipped a little, the waves growing a little waxy in texture—

Then she wasn't ready for the next thing that happened.

_Plinggg._

The water shattered, and she screamed. From the hold of the disintegrating surface broke a golden beak, a spire-like beak that caught fire—swelling, swelling into the vast shape of a firebird exploding from its eggshell of ice—its blazing wings bloomed, and with a fling it threw Clynine to her knees, shrieking from pain.

_"Help!" _she screamed, thrashing as the flames began to circle and rear, struggling to her feet only to be thrown down again and again. _"Save me!"_

Deina was suddenly beginning to panic, her breathless cries echoing across the water. "_No!_ Lyssa, get down! Don't hurt her!" screamed the woman, running, running, stretching a futile hand.

Lyssa was only heedless, her beak-jaws parting to speak. As her Voice came forth, flames erupted from her serrated beak, roaring straight over the Cleric's head in a violent crackle that made her scream again.

_SINLESS? _

_YOU?_

Clynine pulled hands over her head, shivering, curling up. "Yes!" she pleaded. She had to believe, believe or burn away. "I _am_ sinless! I am!"

But the bird goddess was not convinced. With a snarl, her feathers began to lengthen into tendrils—growing, extending, coming to circle her—tighten around her—seep into her skin. _Probes._

And in the fire, Clynine thought she was dying. She felt her muscles losing their strength, her Petal Staff falling to the water with a great tinkling splash—sinking away into the water, her fingers paralysed and powerless to snatch for it. She squirmed as much as her paralysis would allow—but she could not move, could not scream. Fire shifted through her, caustic and ticklish and nauseating—testing every inch of her body and soul, searching, searching, searching…

A pause too long.

The flame festered in her ribcage.

In that _very_ second, Clynine knew that she had failed.

_LIAR!_

Jaws parting, melting, solidifying into the echoes of hell. The bird roared into her face, eyes flaring, hot breaths singing her skin.

_HOW DARE YOU LIE TO A GODDESS? _

_YOU **HAVE** SINNED! YOU LIED THAT YOU HADN'T, BUT YOU **HAVE**!_

Suddenly, its grip swelled a hundredfold—the pain tore Clynine's skull apart; she could only scream again. _It_ crept through her head, crept, crept, spinning and twisting, wrenching memories from the bed of her dreams—burning them into her eyes.

Images of a tall woman with blonde hair and sapphire eyes, blinking sadly. Images of a smile lost forever.

And the Cleric's eyes could only go wider and wider as her soul began to break down, and her heart began to sink into listless reminiscence.

She couldn't deny it, not any longer. She couldn't deny this burning pain in the back of her throat, every time she thought of the way she had cursed the woman who had saved her life.

**_YOU HAVE, HAVEN'T YOU? _**

The Cleric shivered. The words were expanding all around her like coiling snakes, drowning every other sound out—strangling her. She pulled her hands over her ears to block them out, but the words slipped inwards anyway. They continued to echo. Darker than bloodstains.

_This is what you're like to your parents too, isn't it? Why else did you leave them to slog it out in their dingy little workshop at home, anyway?_

Down she went, clawing at her face so her fingers grew warm and wet. With what? Blood? Tears?

"I'm sorry—" she tried to cry. "I—I—didn't mean—"

_You thought they were SERVANTS! I'm not your assistant—I'm your SERVANT! I never asked for this!_

"_Lanoré!_" she shrieked breathlessly, burying her face in open palms—but even now she knew crying was _useless!_ "Please _forgive me_—I never meant it—"

No time to listen to apologies. No time for pointless _mercy_.

**_LIAR! LIAR! LIAR!_**

In her constant screams, Clynine felt the water crumble beneath her. She felt her robes being soaked and dragged into the iciness, into shadows and lights and flickering ribbons, solid no more. She felt water rising around her like a wave, water closing over her head like a dome.

Then she the flames, swelling and shearing the water away, somewhere high above. A beak of burning knives stabbed itself into the waves and plummeted after her, vaporising the water, plunging through the light, a raptor for its prey. She heard screams, but Clynine couldn't care—the inferno was drawing closer to snatch her up, ready to rip her heart from her chest and relish it.

And in this spiralling chaos that left her thoughts no room, her mind could only hold one simple sentence:

_I'm sorry, Lanoré._

And then, the thunder flooded the Cleric's ears.

Until then, her body had been expecting to be ripped open by infernal saws and razor wings. Even now, she thought these spasms were from the pain of burning beneath the murderer's knife, of being slashed into pieces, again, and again, and again.

But it was only _lightning_.

Lightning, like a blade in the firebird's heart.

In skeins of ripping screams, the blazing creature descended towards the pool, smoking, whirling, plummeting in a death spiral. Water broke beneath its impact, thrown like handfuls of diamonds to the walls. The monster shrieked brokenly, erratically in the pool of its own shame, feathers melting.

In the dizzying lights that flashed across her vision, the Cleric gasped and splashed—dragging herself to the surface, towards the bank, kicking with deep watery breaths though her robes were tangled around her legs—kicking and swimming furiously, coughing the freezing water up.

"Clynine!"

Through the fog of exhaustion, a woman's cry resounded softly into her ears.

"This doesn't have to be, Clynine!"

She was silent, gasping. _Lanoré, _the name struck instantly. _Lanoré. Lanoré. _A chant.

Her eyes began to water painfully, with more than just the sea-spray. She kicked blindly forward again, every movement a little stronger than the one before, heart bursting with need.

_Lanoré, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to save me again._

Faintly she felt the rocky ledge beneath her fingers. Almost immediately, strong hands came to catch her by the arms, hauling her out of the water—and Clynine found her vision filled with the smiling countenance of her mistress, brilliant eyes that somehow hadn't died despite the sadness there.

"M-mistress—I—"

In her shock, she couldn't find the right words to say—but the woman was faster, faster as always.

"Clynine, it doesn't have to be like this," answered the Archmage desperately, silvery smile waning. "I didn't realise, Clynine, I didn't know…"

Clynine would hear none of it. She _wouldn't_ hear Lanoré apologise.

Crying out something unintelligible, she launched herself forward to embrace her mistress. "I'm sorry, Lanoré! I'm sorry about _everything!_"

"But there's no need to be sorry!" The woman answered, taking Clynine's shoulders as their eyes met for the first time in a month. "You never did any wrong. _I_ did all the wrong. I thought the Neck was trying to destroy me. But in fact, it was only awakening my buried fears." She turned, away. "I _was _afraid, Clynine."

Lanoré suddenly looked so fragile, her face all tense and struggling like that. "I was afraid you'd leave me. I was afraid you'd stop needing me! Because…no one's made me feel _this_ necessary before. Even my parents. I thought they didn't need me, so I left them behind." She actually sobbed this time, but that was that. "Tossed aside—by the girl they protected all their lives."

Her eyes closed, and her words became a whisper, like dewdrops in the morning, wishing off the edges of the grass. "I was afraid to lose you, Clynine, the way my parents lost me."

_But I won't leave you, _thought the Cleric, sinking into Lanoré's arms again, her eyes clouding up with pain. You're_ the one who's made _me_ feel needed. I used to feel completely useless, sitting around and waiting to be married off. You made me feel like I could actually do _something! _You gave me a direction to go, a path to walk!_

_I didn't want to be trapped forever. You released me, Lanoré..._

Both were aware of the flames stirring behind them, and in the next second, they had parted—fire was beginning to roar again, rising from the pit. Lanoré held her staff high, turning swiftly to her assistant. "This doesn't have to be your fight alone, Clynine," she said, earnestly, fiercely. "We can finish it the way we always meant to. Just you and I, and a world to conquer."

They turned together, and Clynine felt her hands tingle with the magic she had learnt to master without her staff. And in her mistress' presence, she knew she could do _anything. _

The great shape of the firebird loomed again, blazing and crackling like a vast monster. Lyssa roared and expanded, expanded till her wingtips touched the water and set it fizzling with heat, steam billowing outwards.

"Remember that day with Zakum and the fire?" called Lanoré now, as her staff rose, and blue sparks began to travel up its length, gathering at the tip.

"Yes I remember," called Clynine in response, her palms held out, circles of light swooping inwards from the ambience and gathering into a concentrated source before her hands. "We nearly died—but you saved my life that day, didn't you?"

Lanoré's ice was heavenly bright. But her smile was even brighter.

"No, _you_ saved _me_."

Then they gave cries of their own, glorious heralding cries, of _Blizzard _and of _Shining Ray—_and in their shared confidence, light and ice began to rage mercilessly down in a storm upon the bird. The bird, which soared in a distressed circle and rippled hopelessly through the spells, struggling forward, struggling still…

Lanoré cried out louder. Her Blizzard became an entire river of shards, shooting like missiles into the gaps between its thin guard feathers, lodging themselves into its skeleton—

It screeched, wheeling and crying, bursts of fire exploding everywhere. Fading, fading, fading. And as it began to wane in the onslaught, a halo bloomed around it, an aura of golden flame that solidified into five rectangles of light, rectangles that forced the creature inwards, a star collapsing upon itself…

In that instant, everything reversed direction. Attacking projectiles were frozen in midair. There was the twanging hum of impact—and suddenly everything was soaring in the opposite direction. A supernova, from within the chaos—nowhere, everywhere, shards of fire and waves of water exploding outwards through the room and breaking its stones in shock waves like the birth of a sun, or perhaps the death of a star.

Clynine threw up her light defences in split-second reflex—a hundred magic shields that healed her ten thousand times a second while fire was shooting in burning lines everywhere, windows blooming to the sky...

It was surreal, feeling the flames bombard her from everywhere—each individual fragment burning a patch her skin away before her magic rushed to the wound and sealed it up a second later. The continuous sensation, of rushes of new wounds, opening, closing, all over her skin, was utterly horrible. It seemed forever, longer than forever. The Cleric thought she might die waiting, thought the shield might suddenly buckle beneath the impacts and collapse, and leave her open to the endless assault of burning bullets. But every second, she squeezed just a little more mana from her reserves; every second, she told herself that she had to cling to her life with whatever she had…

And at last, it ended.

Sudden as the rise of Lyssa, the flames subsided into the dark. Clynine couldn't stop shaking as she crawled to kneel, glancing wearily about to see the broken walls. Then, she felt exhaustion catch hold with a grip of lead, sinking her back to the ground.

Where had the flames gone? Their imprints were still vivid in her eyes, blinding her. The silence was unnerving, except for the moans of her friends in the corner. There could have been full serenity...

Then, a shot of panic.

_Lanoré. Where's Lanoré? _

She whirled around and panted.

_Lanoré!_

Her eyes skimmed messily across the ruins until they came to a tangled figure beside the wall. Clynine thought she might faint. Lanoré, lying between the fallen rocks, mouth open and face raw from the heat.

The explosion _had_ gone in a particular direction. At Lanoré, unsuspecting Lanoré who hadn't had enough time to switch from attack to defence…

"Lanoré!" screamed Clynine, dragging herself through splinters of sooty rock. She didn't care for the cuts or blood any longer. The woman wasn't breathing. Screeching her despair, the Cleric slapped her, hit her, again and again—to no merciful avail. "Lanoré, Lanoré...wake up! Please, Lanoré…" Suddenly, in the face of death, she was only a girl who didn't know what to do. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, to her lips, her chin, into her robes. "Lanoré! Mistress Lanoré!"

Then, almost as fast, reality caught up to her. She wiped the tears quickly away, trying not to sob. She _had_ learnt how to do it, how to defy death.

_Must a _human_ die before you learn to perform a simple, pathetic Resurrect, Clynine?_

Clynine found herself smiling sadly, at the anger with which those words had been shouted. The irony was chilling. _Maybe so, _she thought, gazing down at those dead eyes. _Maybe this is how I'll learn._

_I can't let you go this easily, Lanoré._

Glancing about for a minute, she caught sight of a glint beneath the rocks—it was her Petal Staff. Slipping quickly over to snatch it, Clynine felt its warmth in her hand, before turning urgently back to Lanoré. As her staff extended, her fingers began to grow warm with the half-power that remained within her. She felt the syllables rise to her lips, simple and clear. She let herself pronounce them.

"Resurrect."

* * *

Sky, sky once more. The ocean was churning half a mile down, the waves white and arcing like doorways to heaven, the sands sparkling like a vast crescent of ivory.

Lanoré's soul was nowhere to be found. The harbour was empty; the corridors had been deserted and the beach was pale.

She had gone on. She was heading to the far shore, just like all the other souls.

Turning to the ocean with a shiver, Clynine saw that she was atop a cliff. For seconds, gazing down the height at the waves below made her head spin—it was high, so high—would she fall off if she took a wayward step?

But to catch Lanoré and bring her back, she had to take that step. She had to cross the ocean. The fear made her feel all hollow inside—nothing to hold onto, no hand to grip, no friend to hug.

_I'm afraid, Lanoré. I'm afraid of being alone, afraid to cross the sea._

Then, silently, she remembered another time when she had stood at the edge of the sky, just as she did now. She remembered so vividly; she remembered being afraid of the drop to the bottom. But she hadn't been alone—Zethis had been beside her, facing the icy wind with her …

If she didn't have any hand to hold, she could hold on to this memory. Bravely, Clynine breathed, _in, out._ _In, out._ _Just like Lanoré taught me. To still my fears._

Then, with a blind leap and spread arms, Clynine rose on the wind, the wind that was eternal, and soared away with the shadows of the sky.

Every second of the flight was a horror. All around her she could only feel the freewheeling winds buffeting her, taking her left and right with invisible, violent currents. There were spikes beneath the water beneath, spikes of ocean that she feared she might impale herself upon—if she fell too close and was claimed by the tides, if she flew too far and melted in the flame of the sun. The listless flight had lasted minutes, hours—and Clynine was beginning to fear that all was lost.

Then…there came a call, a call from far away—the soft and secretive chime of a cathedral bell in the middle of the sea, a voice sunken in the waves by seagulls that didn't understand.

_Dong. _

_Dong._

Each note was poignant and clanging, far away but _true. _The toll of death, or maybe the toll of hopelessness. But whichever it was, every sheer note made the girl think of her mistress.

_Lanoré. _

_Lanoré._

Clynine found a grip on her courage. She flew closer and closer, until the bell's resonance was all around her, engulfing her in its shivery embrace, ringing in the sea-spray that splashed her face.

_This is where I dive, and never look back._

She dove.

Waves, blue and vivid, came to swallow her—cold and glassy, seeping to her bones and gripping her from all around. She gasped out and splashed a little, body forcing her instinctually to the surface_—_it took all her will to hold onto the sound like a strand of rope, and plunge forth regardless.

Then, she found that she could still breathe, her lungs filling up with a fresh breath, not water, when she tried. Bubbles raced from her lips to the surface. Beneath her, the girl could see the silhouette of a grand building with a tapering steeple—a cathedral, vast and still in the currents of the ever-changing sea.

Down Clynine swam, to where the bell was swinging, landing on the parapet of the belltower and gazing inside. To her surprise, there was brightness in the room beneath—a figure shimmering with an elusive light, tugging hypnotically at the bell rope.

_Dong, dong, dong. _It was like the call of a whale.

_Lanoré! _Clynine called—and stopped mid-breath because she felt like her chest was being ripped apart, blood blossoming from her lips into the waves. The call became a scream; she collapsed to her knees on the granite ledge. _Lanoré—come back with me—_

Across the wall she clambered, leaping inside to land by her mistress. The walls were close to the pair, and there wasn't a sound besides that grand ringing.

_Lanoré!_

The woman turned, face pale, half-illusory. _I can't go either way, _she whispered._ I want to stay here forever, in liminality between death and life. I don't want to go back home, or go to heaven._

In those words, Clynine was suddenly growing furious. Downright _furious_ at her mistress, this mistress who wouldn't let go of a stupid _sea_ for her assistant. _Furious_ at Lanoré for leaving. Leaving her in the lurch. Leaving her to be lonely until she died.

_Lanoré! _She shrieked, angry tears rising. _Why, Lanoré? You can't do this!_

But she was unmoved. _Because sometimes, you have to learn to let go. Sometimes, it's hard to stay alive when no one wants you or needs you. I abandoned the people I loved, and so I will be abandoned likewise—and I'm glad I died, but I don't need heaven._

The girl found her anger falling, falling into a quiet sort of understanding.

The Archmage hadn't been forgiven in the heart. Did ghosts forget so fast? Lanoré hadn't been forgiven, somehow—the guilt was still there, deep as ever. And no, she couldn't let the woman go on thinking this way. It wasn't _right_. It wasn't _true._ And most of all, Clynine needed her back, more than anything else.

_Lanoré, Lanoré…_ Before she could flee, the girl reached out to grip her mistress' hand. _Lanoré, didn't I say it's okay…?_

Lanoré let go of the bell rope for a moment—and this moment was all the Cleric needed. Without another second, she kicked off the stone floor of the belltower with all her strength, and her mistress gasped as they soared off together, up through the sparkling ocean tides, up towards that heavenly circle of brilliance above.

_Where are you taking me, Clynine?_

_Lanoré, don't drown in this ocean! It's made of sorrow and memory. It lies to you. There's more above! Have you never tried looking at the world above, breathing its air, tasting how wonderful it is?_

Clynine made a final pull, wings uninhibited by water. They emerged, and Lanoré's eyes widened at the sight of the sky, her gaze so enraptured it made Clynine's heart leap.

Then, slowly, she pulled away from the cerulean above, looked down at the waves around her.

_I like this place, _the dead Archmage murmured. _Why can't you just leave me? Does _anyone_ really need me? Why let me live, if I'm just a _useless_ woman who doesn't know...how to love? _Her voice was growing wispier, fading like mist as she drew away. Clynine snatched angrily at her hand, but Lanoré continued to pull back.

_Why _can't_ you leave me?_

Clynine's heart sank at those words. _No! _Something rang defiant in her mind. _Didn't I promise to bring her back? I have to try again—try, if only so that the effort counts!_ Try!

She clenched her fists, closed her eyes—then opened them again.

_Because…you aren't where you think you are, _answered the girl, floating forward, little by little, reaching out. _This is only a shadow of the truth. This isn't the joy you want! This world is wonderful, but it can't offer you the most wondrous thing in the world—_

_Love. __There's _love_ waiting for you here, Lanoré… Mistress Lanoré. Here in my hand—love, from the ones you left behind._

Then a jab of pain came as the realisation struck.

_You left _me_ behind, Lanoré. Just like you left your parents._

And Clynine must have said those words aloud—for suddenly, Lanoré was blinking, drifting closer with eyes full of fright—and then she was crying, crying like the child she had never been. Or perhaps had been once, and would never be again.

She turned away, to the sky, fingers outstretched so they were silhouettes. Her sobs hadn't really died, but her figure was steely, stubborn. _Clynine— _She murmured, voice gaining colour, wracked with fear. _Are you sure? Don't they…hate me? _Don't they_?_

_No! We don't hate you, Lanoré!_ _We love you. _Need_ you. __Without you, the flowers of El Nath cannot bloom. The city will die._ _El Nath was frozen centuries ago—but can't you can be the one to unlock it from the ice?_

Lanoré's eyes were closed. Her face found a little more colour, her hair some of its former gold—maybe it was the sound of her sad laughter, maybe the way she was smiling, tears glittering in her eyes. Their hands were in each other's; the woman's in the girl's, grips so tight, both certain that they would never, never let go again.

"Clynine," Lanoré said—with a _real_ voice, a voice that reminded her of snow and sunlight and roses from the world above. "Clynine, _you_ saved _me_."

The sky came to an end. The firmament began to disintegrate at the edges, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, falling into Clynine's eyes—and she was descending, descending into fond, distant dreaming, somewhere deep in the ocean she had left behind.

* * *

_"How is she?"_

_"Breathing."_

_"Um, any__thing__ else?"_

_"I don't think so; not for now."_

All was no longer silence, in the tower of light. Lanoré stood groggily, blinking, rising carefully to her feet with tipsy steps. Four of the eight were gathered around Clynine's petite figure, asleep on the floor. She could have been dead, the way she was tangled around the stone shards and pools of water, arms spread like a bird's—but her chest was rising, falling, a breath that somehow couldn't lose its beat.

The other four were elsewhere, gazing at the pool of water, snowflakes descending through the broken wall to land on the surface.

Overhead, the firebird's glowing rectangles had turned into mirrors. Five mirrors, floating in midair. They had arranged themselves in such a way that the stream of light, frail but undefeatable, now twisted and spiralled around the room, bouncing against them, dancing through the motes of ocean dust until it finally came to shine upon the uppermost arms of the chandelier.

Something was forming on the ocean surface above—a reflection of their brilliance, a formless brightness.

Akera's eyes were upon the chandelier again, on its reflection in the sea above, her gaze taking in its every divine drop. She took a tentative step onto the water—found that it accepted her weight, like any other floor.

Lanoré closed her eyes, for suddenly, she could hear _its _voice again.

_Take me to Light, _the Neck whispered, weak and tame and yearning now. _Dark and Light, we must be together. Take me to Light...take me to him..._

* * *

Akera had arrived at the chandelier, her fingers almost glowing in its light. Gently, she reached in between its branches—and sprang back again in surprise as the lights suddenly began to extinguish themselves, like flowers closing.

When all the candles had gone out and all the gold subsided into misted greys, a glimmer of light made everyone looked up. They gasped, smiled—for the reflection of the chandelier lights, glowing in the water on the ceiling, hadn't vanished. It seemed almost real, almost _there_…

"Isn't it amusing, how illusion makes fools of everyone?" From behind, Deina's voice suddenly came again as she strode to the centre, where Akera stood. "These images of light are such beauty: because what light can form, light can certainly falsify. And isn't it strange, that we believe so unwaveringly in everything light presents to us? _Seeing is believing, _isn't that so?"

She turned around at the rest, smiling to herself, as with a joke only she understood. "As far as you are concerned, everything inside a mirror, a reflection, is just an image—formed when light traces an object that doesn't really exist, and tells you it is there. But if a reflection is false, if you _know_ it's false, then what is this world? Where are you now? You fell into a mirror to come here—are you walking in an image right now?"

Her smile began to fade. "That's the strange thing about magic, the strange thing about the power of the Goddess of Light. The moment She bestowed it upon us, She made it possible to turn falsity into reality."

The millennia-old guardian suddenly seemed so sad. "And this is what I've waited for all my life. The day when someone would extinguish the lights and turn these pictures into _real_ magic. It's come. Lyssa has offered her treasure—my treasure_—_to you."

And taking a last silent glance into the chandelier's reflection, Deina flung her halberd upwards. It slipped into the ocean, passing through until it shattered the image-chandelier to pieces and sent a tiny glass piece rippling through the water, falling into her hand with a light _pling_.

Simply, the woman gestured for Lanoré to come—Lanoré, who now cradled Clynine's sleeping body in her arms. The guardian held the Shard out for the Archmage as she approached. The Shard of the Goddess' blood, in all its glory.

_Take me to Darkness._

Lanoré smiled as her fingers closed around the glowing glass shard. And with a strange regret, she pried it gently from Deina's grip…

All at once, a guttural rumbling began in the rock beneath their feet. The floor began to buckle and everyone staggered in fright, as white stone began to rain from the ceiling, like snow.

"By the Goddess! What's _happening_?" cried Raydan, hugging Ketara for his dear life; the Dragon Knight returned it, equally frightened. The six visitors were staring at each other in panic, Lanoré included. The Shard had been taken. The tower was collapsing. And all logic told them that if they stayed any longer, they would fall away with it…

Deina glanced about at the walls, but there was fearlessness in her gaze. Calling Veriun with a small cry, she limped over to meet the beast in the middle of the breaking floor. She hugged the horse's neck, rubbing her cheek against her muzzle—and with the last of her gracefulness, mounted her.

But why was she mounting? Veriun's wings were broken. Veriun couldn't fly.

The floor at the horse's hooves suddenly began to crack and crumble, segments beginning to drop away into the endless sky beneath. Veriun reared and bucked, clattering back from the rift in fright. "You'll be fine!" cried Deina across the growing gap as wind began to buffet up through the cracks of the floor and whip through their hair. "Everything keeping this world real is fading! Remember, once the source is gone, this reality returns to illusion—and you cannot exist within an illusion!"

Already, a vast slice of sky was showing, dividing them from flightless Deina forever. _"Deina!" _screamed Telida, despairing. The woman was already beginning to fall, the black winged horse instinctually scrabbling at the rocks with screaming whinnies for a nonexistent foothold, for another chance to live.

"You'll be fine, and so will I!" was her unfailingly faithful answer, as she descended away.

_But faith is the flimsiest foundation for truth, _thought Akera.

And then came the great wave. A vast, white wave of collapsing snow, the foundation of the world and every whisper upon which this illusion had been built. Down it all came, crashing through the storeys of the tower, shoving everyone apart in an explosion of utter unreal cold and shimmering, shattering glass—

_And everything built on faith eventually crumbles, _thought Akera again, eyes closing as the wall of snow came to collide with her.

_White. Pale. Endless light._

_Nothing._

Through the vast rumble of the stones and silence, through the ethereal thunder of ice, there came a strain of hopeful song.

_I may dream and weave and sing_

_And then you might know everything…_

* * *

_the fire never dies_

Clynine's eyelids urged her to blink. She did.

And suddenly, she found herself awake on pale sheets, facing a ceiling that seemed shockingly familiar. The taste of her long sleep was still sluggishly sweet on her tongue, and for seconds she began to wonder. What had she been doing before this?

Then she turned her head, and heard an exclamation of joy, felt someone's warmth draw closer to hers—the cloudy vagueness of his figure slowly clarifying, solidifying into Zethis, with his blonde hair and gentle smile. "W...where..." Clynine's mouth opened, but the words were hard to shape. Sighing, she abandoned the effort and let herself sink back into half-consciousness. "How long?"

"Four days," answered Zethis. "Lanoré said your healing is keeping you well, but you—"

_Lanoré!_ All at once the memory of her mistress came pounding through her veins—the fight, the flames, the light and the ocean… "Zethis, how'd I get here?"

"Deina gave the Shard to Lanoré, then the tower began to collapse—and next moment, we were standing on the top level of _real_ Orbis Tower, as if nothing had happened, with a pile of broken glass before us..."

Clynine nodded slowly, mind resistant to her attempts at sense-making, eyes no longer able to stay open. "And oh, yes," she whispered. "Whose room am I in?"

"M—ine," answered the White Knight, embarrassed suddenly. "We-we-we just didn't want to—to take your key…and I had to answer Linn's questions…a-and…I didn't have t-time—"

"It's alright. Thanks." A soft smile lit her lips. _The job is done. And Zethis is here. _This thought was like hot chocolate, and it soothed her into another deep sleep.

Akera was taking a weary stroll—after all the tension in the mirror Orbis Tower, she had to ease her twanged nerves.

As her eyes rose to the evening horizon ahead, the Mage paused. The silhouette of someone—_two_ someones, approaching. Two_ familiar_ someones.

And it froze her rigid.

Ralinn and Shirion. They were walking towards her, hands intertwined, walk a little tipsy, arms touching, as close as _touching _allowed. Outright mush.

But it wasn't the _mush _that made something twist in the wrong direction in Akera's heart. It was the expression on Shirion's face. An expression he'd never show _her. _An expression he had reserved for his _darling little Ralinn._

Something vile and sly had taken root black in her heart. _Jealousy. _Jealousy, that was it. Jealousy, because of what she would never have.

And twist her it did, this unending _tug, tug, tug_ of anger and frustration and hate that went on in binding circles—twist her, like a rope that had already been twisted to its maximum strain—

Someday, it was going to snap.

Something was bubbling in her throat already, the same poisonous anger she always felt when she saw _those two_ together. But today was different—today, she was edgy from weariness. Today, the sight of them had opened a _door._

Even as she waited, she could feel her body shaking with deeply-swallowed rage—rage that _had to come out someday._ Heedlessly, they smiled at each other and walked on. And she craned her neck, as the pair passed, to hear snatches of their conversation:_ I think…I know the answer now, Shirion. Yes…I'll marry you—_

Marry him?

A scream ripped itself from Akera's throat, to slice their conversation in two. The pair stumbled to a stop and turned to spy the white-haired youth—rapidly letting go of each other.

"Oh, Akera—"

But she was deaf with pain.

_"RALINN!"_

From the shadows she stumbled, breathing raggedly and deep, fists curling with fire. Her heart might have been bleeding; it felt like it was, as if a dagger had been plunged deep inside by those two pairs of eyes…

"No, Akera, don't be rash here, we understand—"

_No. No—no, no, no! Nothing you say is important! Stupid woman!_

She screamed again. The two began to look perturbed, Ralinn stepping forward a little angrily, tongue ready to deliver a firm scolding to her _underling_. Beneath that amber gaze, Akera felt as if she were being clawed to death—she knew she would shrivel up and die, if it went in this way.

_She _the superior, _she _the queen, _she _the authority. Always the authority, the one with _every_ right in the world.

And the Mage suddenly felt needles of poison sprouting, slowly, slowly, from her fingers. Growing, until they were long and lethal_. _She felt her fingers grip them tightly as they formed—such a warm, molten _comfort_.

Ralinn's eyes went on mercilessly. The Mage's fingers began to blaze with pain as she tensed them behind her back with all the spinning hurt and fury of half a decade. Of chasing love and letting it be stolen. Of hoping, hoping, only to have it quashed out of her by someone apparently _more worthy._

_Hah, _more worthy_?_

And her lips twisted into a demon's smile, teeth bared, eyes flashing with fire—with a surge of madness, she brought the needles up into light, panting through her teeth, watching as their points gleamed between their faces.

Suddenly, Ralinn no longer looked angry. She was starting to look _afraid_, mortally afraid. Stepping backwards with deep, desperate breaths. But that only made the Fire _Poison_ Mage's heart pound with even more greedy relish, with impulse and anger and bloodlust…

"No, Akera, we can talk about this…I know you're intelligent enough to—"

_"NO! No, you EVIL WITCH! You took him away from me!"_

With a thundering roar, she swung forward, and dug the poisoned needles deep into Ralinn's neck.

Deep as they would go.

The third scream wasn't hers.

Ralinn fell down to her knees, hands shaking as she struggled to hold her balance. Her eyes were rolling as her screams gurgled away, lips frothing and quiveringas she collapsed backwards to the pavement, lips white.

With a cry like a firebird, Akera grinned hungrily. "Have a taste of _my_ pain, Ralinn!" she sneered through tightly-clenched teeth, forcing the needles _yet_ deeper. Ralinn's screams came in short, small bursts, wrangled and wasted and thin, but helpless—helpless…

"_Linn!_" Shirion had fallen to her side, panting_. "Ralinn, no! Please, _no!_"_

_No!_

_No…_

And slowly, things were starting to make little fragments of sense to the Mage. Slowly, she realised the meaning of the images that had just passed her by.

And she was shaking, shaking so hard she thought she would shatter in the wind.

Naturally—naturally for someone who had lost all hope and who was watching his lover die—Shirion stood up, drunk and swaying with wrath and fear. Snarling, he turned to the only other person around—the one who had perpetrated it all. And his brown eyes were so dark, so stormy-dark, that Akera suddenly began to feel real _fear _for the very first time in her life.

"_AKERA!_" he roared, a roar that could have broken her bones. A lion at the scent of the kill. Sparing her no gentleness—but why _should_ he?—he gripped her by the shoulders and throttled her with all the rage within him, until her shoulders were bruised and her entire being was shivering with unshed tears.

"_Akera, if you want me to leave Ralinn and love you, THIS ISN'T THE WAY TO DO IT!"_

Akera was too dizzy to comprehend. _"No, I didn't—I didn't do this—_"

There was nothing left for her to do but lie. _Lie and deny. _Maybe if she denied forever, it disappear. Her eyes stung, as she screamed it a third time: "_I DIDN'T DO THIS!"_

Shirion slapped her. Not hard, but hard enough to fill her vision with watery stars and send her collapsing to the floor with blood on her teeth. Whatever anger she might have felt for his deed, she felt not. She felt nothing. She had grown so numb.

_"Ralinn, Ralinn, say something. Please, Ralinn."_

Finally, Akera's sanity had returned—cold, broken sanity that cut her like shards of a broken mirror. Above the roar of her tears, she could hear her dearestfriend whispering his hopeless assurance—_you'll be fine, my dear, I swear you'll be fine. _With a held-back sob, he turned and took off across the cobblestone roads with a determination that he would never, ever show for her again.

Now they were alone. The Ranger lay on a bed of white snow, face just as pale as the ice, neck pinpricked with congealed spots of blood, where Shirion had extracted the needles. _"Spiteful creature," _hissed the woman at Akera, with a hate and poison that might rival her own.

But Akera couldn't take it. No more. _No more._

If she heard any more, if she saw any more, she would crumble to dust.

While Ralinn spat another curse at her and the wind became a tomb of glass, Akera pulled her hands over her ears, sewed her eyes shut—and screaming, screaming, she ran away, tears plummeting through the shadows to melt the snow.

* * *

She locked herself into her room for the rest of her day, crying her heart out onto white sheets that would be washed clean by tomorrow. Even the news that Ralinn was alive and asleep under the caretaking of Clynine, slipped under her door on the back of a business card in Turino's spiky handwriting, wasn't enough to lure her out.

_If Shirion could show me forgiveness, I'd pay for it with my blood. But he won't._

Her body twined deeper into the sheets, a cocoon—she wouldn't leave this white, safe, warm world ever again. She would never have to make another mistake. She should just _die _here. Let herself bleed out onto these sheets and vanish into them.

_And even his forgiveness won't be enough! _

_What have I done with my life? I murdered my parents! I ran away instead of burying them! Almost killed Turino, almost killed Ralinn, almost destroyed Shirion's life…_

_…and all because I was angry._

_Tomorrow we will leave for Victoria, and when we pass by the Station, it will only serve to remind him of the years he spent, pandering to the whims of a girl who would betray him. Entrusting his life to someone who would later try to kill his lover._

_All because _she_ wanted to be his lover _herself.

She had scarred her image to the eyes of her friends. She would be an outcast forever—cursed by her very guild mates for her unthinkable deed.

And she had scarred her soul to the eyes of the Goddess. The Lady of Light who sat on her throne of woven gold—She would eternally gaze down upon _Akera_ and her wretched soul, shaking Her head to see the Mage's sorry state. Seeing not her talent, her great deeds, her victories—seeing only a sinner who just couldn't learn.

_In Time and Light and Darkness, there is no room for mercy. End is end, and when the blade is lowered, nothing more can be said or done._

The blade had been lowered upon her—upon the half-finished songs she had tried to write, but had lost, and were now fading into meaningless dissonances. The blade had been lowered, and everything in Akera's life had effectively dwindled to nothing.

Because here, in the cold white arena of the deities' council, there was no room for mercy.

_No justice, no mercy._

* * *

_fall_

Just as the rumble of rock began, just as the ancient snowflakes began to unravel the tower, Deina finally came to terms with her fate.

_This is the second I anticipated, those seven millennia ago, _she thought, wind whirling through the castles of her mind. _My world is vanishing, and I with it. But at last I'll be free, and at last I'll see the things I've always dreamt of seeing!_

_And to do that, I must fall._

"Come, Veriun—_shush_, be quiet. This is the last part of our lives together. But after this, you'll be free, Veriun! All we need to do is jump. And we'll see the world. We'll see what lies on the other side of the sky."

The horse clopped gently to the edge of the falling ledge, led there by her mistress' hand, gazing down at the sky. But Veriun was afraid to jump—she didn't want it, the feeling of falling helplessly. She was a beast of flight.

"We'll be alright, I promise." The guardian hugged the horse's neck and smiling sadly. "We'll be together, and we'll finish this ride with laughter on our wings."

_Even if death waits at the end. Even if, seconds after we see the world, we'll vanish forever._

Submitted, subdued, the woman climbed onto Veriun's crippled form, just the way she always had. "This is it, Veriun. The world's about to end. It's the only way home—don't fear!"

The hole in the floor had grown wide. Veriun reared backwards in fear, and Deina had to stroke the beast's neck to pacify her. "You'll be fine!" called the woman to the six on the other side. "Everything keeping this world real is fading! Remember, once the source is gone, this reality returns to illusion—and you cannot exist within an illusion!"

"Deina!" answered Telida from the far bank, eyes flooded with despair. Deina smiled at the young woman and her beautiful voice.

And knowing it the truth, knowing it was the best piece of advice she could give, she shouted, "You'll be fine, and so will I."

For the first time in her life, Deina was _certain_ about something. All her life, she had lived in a white tower—every floor the same as every other, every wall identical to the one above and the one below. All her life, she had lived in an illusion. A lie.

But now she had met _them_. They had released her from the lie. They had made her realise that this _was_ the amazing truth! And now she would release _them, _from this world, and from the fear that bound them here.

_You can't be afraid to take the leap, because sometimes that's where the answer lies._

It had taken mere seconds. Suddenly, the ground beneath them was gone, and for a nanosecond they were hovering in midair, shadows drifting further and further, snow blooming overhead as the stones gradually cracked apart.

There were no more voices—the seven warriors had vanished from her world behind a curtain of snow. _I suppose it's just you and me now, Veriun. _In that same nanosecond, Deina began to remember.

_A mirror opening beneath me. Veriun taking me safely inside. And the Goddess, the Goddess smiling at me from above as we vanish through the glass, pulling away from the world outside, forever. Certain that this is what we want._

Eyes shut, soul braced, arms locked around her horse's powerful neck, she got ready to unravel that memory back to its start, and finish her story.

She let go.

And suddenly, every fantasy in the world was roaring upwards past their ears. They were plummeting like stones into a pool. Deina let her eyes open—and she couldn't stop seeing after that. The edges of their universe were beginning to crumble, and windows into the other universes were beginning to open in the sky. In those windows, she saw amazing things, horrific things—birds with twenty wings, violet skyscrapers, endless spirals of numeric digits and stars exploding into their rainbows of supernovae. And at every second, she left another world behind, losing each chance to the sky as the windows gradually drew closer and closer together, and melded into a vast well of light at the bottom, far below.

_The other side of the sky._

Deina was starry-eyed, her bones and muscles no longer connected because the dimensions were meeting here, and she was disintegrating into the current of zero. Beneath her, Veriun was invisible too—but just like herself, she had not vanished. Something strange that defied the degeneration of the dimensions was still there, unable to be torn apart.

_Life._ Life, and love. The heartbeat that couldn't fade, though Time and Light and Darkness tried.

_I might dream and weave and sing_

_And then you might know everything_

With a deep breath and an exulting cry, Deina threw up her arms with a final strain of song, with every cell in her body, an offering to the world—to the life that could have been, to the life that never was. A farewell, to the world of Life, and the world of Love.

_I know this song because I'm a part of Life. The Dragon's song. The song that was imprisoned into every living heart, at the start of His creation._

_Someday, I'll be walking in the Dragon's garden—and I will finally have the joy I've been waiting for._

Beneath her, Veriun was whinnying wildly. Somehow, though she had never learnt the language, Deina knew that it was a cry not for fear, but for utter and irreplaceable joy. She felt the same joy spiralling within her like a carousel of colours, and she laughed for this very sensation, the feeling of living the last second of your life in absolute, unbounded freedom.

Then, letting their last fears go, they watched as the universe they had lived in together finally slipped away. Away like a shadow she would never see again—into the endless flickering of a candle, and an explosion of scintillating glass.

* * *

_So Deina does her job with unwavering faith. But what does she receive? Punishment in isolation. Then death._

_Is this not injustice?_

_But no obligation exists, so why bother? When she's dead and locked in Ayris' sky, the sky of the forgotten, what more can she do but drift around with no will to defend her case?_

Disposal is always the best solution to a problem, _the deity of questions-and-answers always says. _If your question implodes and dies, then there'll be no need to answer it, would there?

And if everyone else agrees to the disposal, then why listen to the one being disposed of?

_No justice—of course, no justice. And yet no mercy. In heaven, peace and smooth running are unanimously valued over upkeep of these hindering virtues._

_Such as fairness. And forgiveness._

_What is the point, indeed? Heaven wasn't made to uphold human happiness. It was made for itself._

Let the tyrant stand. Let them murder each other. It isn't our problem. Let them solve it themselves.

* * *

_No justice, and yet no mercy._

_This is how the world always ends._

* * *

I know this chapter wasn't as good as last one, so don't bother telling me so, because reading such criticism gets me down. Also, I don't think I've managed to catch all the errors. If you see typos, do tell me.

If you remember to (in your review), tell me your favourite:

1) Male main

2) Female main

3) Relationship(s).


	11. Year of the Rabbit: Turning

It's been a long year, and I do not expect that everyone had the patience to wait it out. But to those who are still reading this, thank you so much :) I feel I've lost the writing touch after my long hiatus…but I swore I would never stop writing OTDOTS until it was finished, and so I shall not.

And apologies for not using the Dark Lord's proper name. I _would _like to keep this story up to date with the canon, but changing a name halfway through a story doesn't _feel_ right.

(Survey from last chapter turned up interesting results. Most popular female: Akera. Most popular males: Ketara/Turino. Most popular relationship: ZethisxClynine, which got more votes than all the rest combined.)

* * *

Chapter 11: Year of the Rabbit/ Turning

_spirals_

Everything was changing, changing. Like impermanent, repeating seasons that turned on the edge of a vast wheel, like petals and leaves sailing a breeze towards a horizon they would never reach. The ocean was a shattering mirror, blue and pink and vermilion. It captured the cold sky like a mirror, peaceful in spite of the minute stormy agitations across its vast skin.

Its permanence was not eternal stasis, but eternal change. Never for any two days in the history of the world had the ocean been the very same one. It had been a billion different oceans before: change had taken through all those countless shades and phases.

_The world is changing. Everything is changing with it. The old will die for the new, and the new will have their time eventually._

Lit by the evening, a lone boat stood, stalled from its original course by its captain. He stood hunched over the controls—curled, really, for fear, the way a hedgehog would curl at the threat of death, or the way a baby pulled its body close in the depths of its mother's womb. He was no baby, but he was young, and fledgling, and knew less of the world than he ought or needed to have.

"What was that?" he muttered, alert as a child awakened by a noise in the night.

"Turbulence, you dimwit," growled the stony-faced mentor behind him.

Carefully, he relinquished his clench on the rudder lever.

Merely a week ago had the boat changed hands. Clearly enough from his steering, the man at the wheel was not a professional. He had come to the door of the company a few months ago, stacks of hope in his eyes, all ready to be squandered in a go at that doorway. But there had been no qualifications beneath him, that could have granted him a better chance—only unfounded words, of two years at the helm of a small whaling boat.

Sceptical about his aptitude, the managing committee of the service had made plans to keep him off the service as long as they could. No use putting a rookie up at the helm; that'd kill some passengers—and the company—sooner than the king's necromancers would.

But fate had its demands, and it lowered its hand as it always did, and the captain began to ail too soon for anyone's reckoning. His joints started acting up, something to do with his strenuous work and the stress it posed. And all too soon, he was too frail to handle three flights a night. As such, Onnex, current captain and owner of the service, had taken up this last task of training the young man for the job.

Captain Norda Onnex, one of the most visionary men in the grand scene of the revolution. Defiant for ten years and counting.

They wheeled through the wind, the golden sky whizzing by the windows of the navigation room, gleaming in the dials and levers. The young man swung wildly and yelped his tenth cry of the minute, hanging madly onto the grip poles. Captain Onnex, finally exasperated, kicked the leg of the map table to make his anger known.

"Pay attention! There are deadlines to keep!"

Nodding his fervent agreement, the youth reached for the thrust lever and yanked it. The boat listed suddenly as it picked up speed, throwing both against the right wall.

"The rudder, boy! Get the rudder! Don't you know how to multitask—"

A siren call from the far bank broke his sentence in two.

Like sunlight fading at the start of an eclipse, the fury suddenly drained out of Captain Onnex. He glanced up, eyes growing greyer.

Ellinia had come into sight—Ellinia, and shadows, those shadows, shifting in the branches, gleaming here and there with flashes of flaming-carmine.

Captain Onnex knew what those red lights were.

They had been anticipating him. And here in the bare black sky, he had nowhere to hide.

They were waiting, burning staves lit, and huge black cylindrical objects with their barrels pointed their way…

_Boom._

A flower of brilliant, sparkling red-and-black flashed from across the mile. A black metal mass was bulleting towards them, red flame glittering and spiralling on its tail, expanding as it whistled closer…a paper-thin sound that grew higher, higher, into a scream…

The tiny vessel began to swerve. The young captain was panicking. Sweat adorned on his brow while he tugged at every lever within his shaking reach.

As it turned out, the young navigator _didn't_ know how to multitask. The rudder went unchecked again. To the mercy of the winds it was cast, and the ship began to spiral and bank deliriously, wind tearing through the windows while the passengers in the cabin screamed and clutched at the windows, banging on the walls and begging to be _let out—_

_Boom!_

No one could do anything this time. The projectile rammed straight into the nose of the ship, shattering the window, caving the entire wooden bow inwards, spitting its flames onto the wooden walls so the sparks began to creep up the dry wood, expand into an inferno, consuming the bow with dark wrath.

The two captains were the first to go. The cannonball connected with the younger's forehead, sending him barrelling into the wall behind, skull caved in like the front of the ship, blood raging down his shattered lip. The older was then instantly engulfed by the flame, and in its dark embrace he burnt alive, while the pyre surged hungrily on to devour the rest of the boat.

Leaving their passengers trapped. To burn to death, or to scramble through the windows and leap into the frigid winter ocean that would be their doom anyway.

* * *

The king had grown tired, so tired of this game. Things had been running downhill for his campaign ever since the first mention of this _mysterious guild._ They had come into being somewhere in the depths of Ossyria, and since then had blazed their little trail across the regions, reputation growing with each passing month.

The real disaster had come upon the woodcutters in Leafre. In a day, the entire force had been massacred, all their equipment destroyed. Only their young spokeswoman had been spared.

And suddenly, every curse and every sort of bad news seemed to be pouring in onto his desk.

_Your Highness,_

_Xelion Narias, Captain Necromancer Guard of the Dead Mines, was found dead and locked into the Mines with his own blade at his heart. He failed in his duty, and allowed all 325 of your Mines prisoners loose. That is no doubt the cause of his suicide._

_Forty members of the company posted to El Nath perished alongside. The Mines and El Nath regions are unchecked and vulnerable._

_Ilden Shore_

_Captain Necromancer Guard of Orbis_

The day had been the coldest of the winter so far. Aismeth had been in a bad mood, and along with having to deal with the death of one of his most gifted servants, Caleix had had to appease her with promises.

On that day, that day of slippery frost and bone-biting cold weather, he remembered clearly the feeling of that measly piece of paper crumpling in his hand. Till now, he recalled the mental note he had made, to promote a member of Shore's platoon to Captain Necromancer Guard of the Dead Mines.

But a month down—a new message had come that changed _everything._ All over again.

_Your Highness,_

_Captain Shore just let the reported guild slip through his fingers, yesterday morning around noon. He claims that they leapt off the edge of the city, and that he could do nothing about it. _

_I don't believe his tale. I believe this calls for demotion._

_Leta Alcan_

_Leader of Orbis Squad II_

That was the thing about his guards, necromancer and non-necromancer alike. Clumsily cobbled together from the mass of recruits that had defected to the castle's side. The members of each unit were constantly ready to stab each other in the back, ready to rise and to take out the ones above them.

Caleix threw himself against the backing of his cushioned study room chair, all his breath slipping through his lips. Again. _Escaped again. From the most cruel of my servants. _A great dread came to his eyes, and he glanced across the room at the housekeeper woman now preening herself in her hand mirror.

_If only it were as hard for _you_._

Things had been plummeting for a while after that note. But now, as he swept wearily through his letters, he unearthed a neat envelope. Its neatness heartened him. Only good news came in such heartfelt packaging.

_Your Highness,_

_Operation Moonlight has been successful. The illegal boat service belonging to Mr. Norda Onnex has been neutralised, and the aforementioned owner executed._

_Regards,_

_Esharo Hesprel_

For this note alone, the tired king found he could allow himself to slacken his jaw and unclench his fist. _Norda Onnex and his despicable boat service. Enemy of more than a decade._

The grey lines on his hand unfolded, and the afternoon light shone across his palm.

_Neutralised, at last._

This would have been cause enough to celebrate—two years, _five_ years back. But times had changed beyond reckoning. What had been _victory_ then was only _necessity_ now. He couldn't rest in his laurels. Every moment, _they_ were gaining on him, worming through the minute holes in his shield that had not been seen till now. This little band of infidels with far too much talent to be quelled.

Suddenly, where his monarchic and military power had once been _all-encompassing_, _undisputable_, he was being shown for all his errors. Shown to the people as _flawed. Fallible. Fragile._

He felt it, that sense of a force beyond his grasp—of change coming upon him, a great tide he was only helpless to turn. He was no longer at the top of things, no longer the commander of his life. Ironic, considering the power he held over those beneath him.

Caleix knew he had to step up his game—a game that had grown so tiring, so horrible, so endless. Everything was spinning, spiralling, out of his grip. If he lost this game, he would die. He had to win, or he would disappear. A game for his life.

And for that victory to come safely within his grasp, a few things had to be done.

* * *

_Ilden Shore,_

_You are spared of your folly, this one time. Also, beware Leta Alcan; she holds you in ill regard. I do not doubt she isn't alone._

_The guild seems to have fled, but there is a chance they are still on Orbis. This is my next order: step up your defence around the stations. Station all as many guards at the loading bay as you can afford. This guild is not returning to Victoria, and neither is the Spear._

_Caleix_

* * *

And a final crucial task, before he could rest (but did rest exist for him anymore?)—a little task that had been conceived in this very study a month and a half ago.

_Well done, Mr. Hesprel. I am proud to have named you my new Guard Captain._

_Do you remember what I instructed, a month ago, when we sat in my study and discussed these first inklings of an uprising? That uprising is stirring right now, and you must hamper its fruition as best you can. Do what I suggested—find them at all costs. The funds are at your disposal._

_They are a potential rallying force—and the people shall not have that opportunity to rise._

_Caleix_

Folding the letter in two and leaving it no more ornamented, no less plain, he passed it to his ever-present housekeeper Aismeth, who took it and called a messenger on his behalf.

So King Caleix reclined in his cushy study-chair, breathing deeply and observing the elaborate carvings in the doorway's arch. This was all a king ever did, wasn't it? Sit in his ornate chamber high above the dust. Wait for his people to complete his commands, or to fail. Demote the ones who failed. Enjoy life.

_Enjoy life_ had long disappeared off the list. Maintaining his position as _the tyrant who gives nothing back to his country_ was a wearying job—people were always out to harm him, to kill him, to put him out of existence. The vast guild Nightfall had come the furthest so far—and here, now, there had appeared another guild that might come even further.

A full revolution was on its brink. It was the rule of the world, after all. Nothing was permanent as long as it was not perfect, and change would come by itself—change, which purged the world of the old and unwanted, so that the new could take root, and perhaps create something better.

And yet, here, he was struggling to defy this current. Tightening his iron grip. Suppressing the masses with military force and terrorism.

_It's really no wonder they hate me._

_But why do I not do anything to change it?_

His forehead wrinkled with a small frown. He couldn't allow anything else from the room of his mind show through.

_Because I can't._

* * *

_deities' council_

"A wonderful job, Arelyn, Ayris, Kalia," murmured the Goddess. She raised her glowing gaze to the sky as they bowed their acknowledgement. "And so it comes to me. It is my turn to assist Orion's Belt."

* * *

_lanoré: whales_

"Did you know that whales like songs?" murmured Lanoré sadly, to the girl in the bed beside which she knelt—clothed in pink, on the brink of another long sleep. She swept a hand across the Cleric's forehead, pushing her brown hair from her face. "I met them on the journey. They live in the halls at the bottom of the sea, singing questions to the world on the other side. And when the tides carry the voices far away, their friends in the wide ocean will sing their replies."

Clynine's lips curved slightly. "Was it fun down there?" she whispered vaguely. "It hurt so much…for me…"

"Oh, fun? Yes, it was fun," answered the legendary Archmage, pulling the soft white blankets of the inn over the girl's chin. "You remember how it was like, years ago? That day when we fell into the ocean from a burning ship, and a whale saved us. He's dead now, you know? It's sad, how the kindness we once knew can vanish without us feeling a thing…"

But her eyes were shut, and she whispered not a word in answer. Maybe she was dreaming of whale songs now. Lanoré wished the girl a quick recovery, and left the room.

* * *

_ralinn: indomitable_

Again and again, her eyes drowned in the text on that plain yellowing leaf.

_The Spear accords the wielder power immeasurable, power so vast that almost no one in the world, save a talented few, has strength enough to contain its rage. Finding one with the ability to do so is as likely as flipping a coin and having it land on its edge._

There might be no one to wield the Spear of Heaven. No one to master its strength.

All this while, she had believed that the Spear was the key. _Get the Spear, and use it to kill the king._

But now she knew the Spear might not murder King Caleix.

The Spear might murder the one who raised it against him.

* * *

_orion's belt: the interim_

So the ancient weapon's parts were reunited, after millennia of being scattered across Ossyria. On the evening after their small victory, Ralinn had gathered everyone in her room to witness the event. In their presence, she had joined the parts together—Spearhead to Neck, Neck to Shaft, Shaft to Shard—in what should have been the most triumphant moment of Orion's Belt's existence since its completion.

For moments, they had gazed upon that single, blinding, graceful piece of weaponry, and stared in soundless awe. The weapon that every Dragon Knight's spear had been fashioned in the image of. The one that had scattered the Darkness and incapacitated the Goddess.

But when Ralinn had succumbed to its power, suddenly, and collapsed with burnt fingers and drawn-out screams—off to Clynine's room it had been again. For an hour it had lain untouched on Ralinn's floor, burning black marks into the parquet, before finally being broken apart with Zethis' Judgment tied to the end of Ketara's Omega Spear.

Even now, though the room had been cleared and the parquet hurriedly repaired by the maintenance team, the Spear parts had continued to sing. _Light, Darkness, Time, Life. _Everyone could hear their songs twining into one, winding across the floor of Ralinn's room, under the gap of the door and into the corridors.

Ralinn's terrified understanding had been reiterated. "Almost no one in the world, save a talented few, has strength enough to contain its rage," she whispered, repeatedly, as she fell into deep dreaming.

The leader of Orion's Belt took two days to recover from her combined ills. Clynine was the heroine of the week. No one ignored her any more, and the ones who already knew her well showered her with praise. From the day Ralinn was discharged, the Mu Lung girl slept for five hours every afternoon. She never went outside, her frail body not ready for the cold—but her friends stayed in to keep her company.

* * *

At long last, Raydan found himself beside the towering door of the Orbis potion shop, sweating and panting—but satisfied nonetheless. He could barely conceal the triumph from his features, as he kicked the front door open and strode inside—it had taken ten minutes of confident walking, and twenty minutes of getting lost.

The Sniper's gaze shot across the room, from left to right and back again. It quickly became apparent that this wasn't a normal potion shop: the shelves were infinitely neater than those of the earthy shops in Victoria Island, unruly from the countless times the guards had come to ruin the wares, the thousands of times the shopkeepers had had to rebuild their collections from scratch.

The shopkeeper, though, was the most special thing about it.

The Sniper slipped eagerly to the counter front, digging in his pockets for the fee but all the while maintaining his attention upon _her_. His gaze was trained upwards, for above the counter—yes, _above—_floated the heavenly shopkeeper Edel upon white wings. She was tending to the upper shelves at present with a feather duster that looked like it had been bought before the Sniper had been born.

The youth attempted to keep his eyes to himself, failing miserably. The fairy dusted like a dream, her figure shockingly pleasing to his eyes. He leant forward. She floated in midair, almost high enough such that he could see under her—

Edel whirled around in a flurry of dress cloth and red pigtails, and shrieked. "Oh, oh! Sorry!" exclaimed the fairy with wide eyes, fluttering down.

"They don't call you _fair folk _for nothing," Raydan promptly answered, leaning in with a smooth smile. "So…are you…taken?"

She reddened. "Uh, I…" her answer began, then she shook her head and got straight back on task. "Anything I could get for you?"

"…Ah, right," he murmured dejectedly, abandoning his attempt. "Tickets? Ten tickets, please?"

Edel was quiet, her eyes glassy for seconds.

Thinking he had not understood, Raydan repeated his request. "Ten tickets for the boat service?"

"The service has been discontinued," came her answer, in a cold whisper. Raydan felt his heart sink like a stone in a pond. "There will be no more trips. Our founder went down with our last boat. The company has been forced to disband."

"D-discontinued? Disband? _What?"_ At this point, he totally forgot to be pleasant. Perhaps the only reason he was flustered was that he had just failed his first important mission since the yeti-reining. But at the same time, Raydan knew precisely what all this implied. Their journey home had just become ten times more tedious.

By now, Edel had already resumed her dusting, sparing him no more attention. _What an impression I must have made._ The Sniper sighed a thank you and turned to leave.

* * *

_ralinn: all's fair in love and war_

Ralinn was scribbling out an essay. Today she had a clear mind from sleep, and was well into her third paragraph, her old pen starting to get scratchy—when a knock made her leap from the bed. Brushing her essays quickly aside, she raced to the door to welcome her visitor—

"Oh, _you _certainly are early today," exclaimed the young woman when she found herself face-to-face with Shirion. "We aren't meeting till two-thirty!"

He smiled gently back and touched her wrist. "It's good manners to be punctual," he whispered with a small smile. "Are you feeling alright now?"

"I…think so. I owe Clynine so much." Her gaze grew dark, suddenly. "And I owe Akera a good arrowing."

Shirion seemed surprised. "It was—done in anger," he tried, but the Ranger was unmoved. "She was…she doesn't hate you, Ralinn…"

But now was not a time for thoughts like these, and Ralinn saw the invitation to drop the subject in his eyes. He hesitated for moments, and the woman smiled, beginning to feel a strange pressure in his fingers…

It was then that the Crusader attempted to kiss his guild leader. It was an attempt doomed to fail from the start—even as the warrior leant through the doorway, Ralinn's reflexes caught hold of her entire stunned self, and swung her quickly aside.

The shock took mere seconds to dissipate. _"Seriously!_" exclaimed the woman as Shirion gave a yell of alarm and tried to steady himself. She began to giggle. "You _really _think you'll catch me?"

"I wonder why I allow you to bully me like this," muttered Shirion. "I said 'please' already—"

"And I said 'no thank you'." She grinned, savouring the despair on his face. "My mother always said it's safest to avoid commitment until you're absolutely certain."

"And you're _not…certain_?" he answered, hurt. "I mean…_I'm_ certain…I mean…"

She went still, eyes widening as the words began to make sense. "You…are?"

And here he was, being bold again. The Crusader reached out to brush her cheek, smiling in a way that must have been involuntary—for the sensible, lucid Shirion wouldn't _allow _himself to display such an expression.

"Linn—I love you, and though I cannot prove it to you, I can _tell_ you it is so…" His fingers slipped to her shoulder, and slowly the touch turned into an embrace—the Ranger, bewildered till then, returned it with surprising willingness.

"So what after this?" he asked as he drew mournfully away, and something of a gentle regret flooded his eyes.

"After what?"

"After all this ends. Don't say it won't, Ralinn," he said. "When it ends, and we free the world, and everyone has what is rightfully theirs, us included, what will you…?"

"_We," _the guild leader interjected, closing a hand around his. "What will we do? And I know the answer to that, Shirion, if only you'd let me…" She paused. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, and she let herself laugh. "When all this ends, and we're free again, I will marry you. And we will live together, in a quiet suburb on the outskirts of Henesys."

She turned away when the Crusader's eyes widened. "But it won't really happen that way, will it?" she went on, growing almost as sad as her companion. "Real stories don't end that way. _Those _endings are only found inside books."

But he heard it not, only took her shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead. "We can still dream," he answered. "Because that's all we have for now. Until it ends…"

Three hard raps on the door chose this moment to interrupt. Both quickly sprang out of their reverie, hearts pounding from disappointment.

"I'm sorry," Shirion whispered suddenly, somewhat angry at himself. Ralinn shook her head with a smile as he let go, proceeding to the door. She was surprised to find Clynine waiting outside with bright eyes.

"Two thirty!" exclaimed the woman with a sigh, welcoming the Mu Lung girl into the room. "Is it customary to be half an hour early for a meeting?"

* * *

_orion's belt: the last outpost_

"It's gone!"

"What do you mean, _gone_? It can't be _gone_—"

"It _closed down_! It's not _my_ fault!"

So the meeting was begun by Raydan's disappointing news. And no one took it well—Ralinn the least of all. What to do now? The boat's failure to exist had thrown practically the entire schedule off, and his sister made no effort to conceal her despair.

_What a way to begin_, she must have been thinking. It was plastered all over her face and burning in her eyes.

"Right. Alright," muttered the guild leader as she straightened her thoughts. Trying to look like she knew what to do, even if she didn't. "The plan was supposed to be like this: we take the boat, get across the sea in secret, find ourselves a place to prepare for our infiltration. But well—we're having problems with stage one."

Raydan rose to his feet on the bed. "I propose we swim there!" he exclaimed. This was met, rather suitably, by a chorus of groans. Even Zethis groaned. "What? That's the best idea so far!"

"How about stowing away again?" said Akera, cutting the Sniper off before he could make more bad suggestions. She caught Ralinn's gaze with her own, deliberately and poisonously. "This turn of events has made us so desperate that I wouldn't put stowing away beyond us."

Guild members glanced at each other. As far as they were concerned, this idea was just as bad as Raydan's, and just as likely to succeed. Who could ignore the surge in guard numbers at Orbis Station over the five days they had waited? It had something to do with the guild's little stunt at the tower top. Orion's Belt may have escaped at the garden, but they wouldn't be escaping the city. There was _no way _they would be slipping through the gates, past the checkpoint, into a potato crate and onto the ship completely undetected.

For an immeasurable time, the room was cold. Turino and Telida stared at Ralinn. Raydan, Zethis and Ketara stared at Akera the genius. Lanoré and Clynine glanced at each other. The despair that pervaded the spaces between everyone was impassable.

Finally, a thoughtful, solitary voice smashed through the glassy quiet.

"I…might actually have a way."

They turned in unison to Lanoré's offering of hope, eyes glittering in anticipation. "Yes?" said Ralinn. "Please do share; if you don't have a solution, then no one does."

Akera seethed openly at this comment—but Ralinn didn't acknowledge it. To her, Akera didn't exist anymore.

"Please?"

* * *

Lanoré's idea raised a discussion. That discussion lasted two hours. Suggestions and ideas were thrown to the floor by everyone—from Zethis to Raydan, from Ralinn to Lanoré herself. Ideas were picked; others were rejected. The guild leader rounded up with a summary. By the end, everyone knew what they were about to do.

Orion's Belt soon finished packing the contents of their inn rooms into their carriers—clothes and papers into sling-bags, haversacks, money bags, weapons strapped to belts, rooms swept for loose mesos and fountain pens. All too soon, they were returning their keys outside the inn, the counter girl managing to extort another smile from her _sweetheart_ Ketara—Telida's deadly glare forced her to suffer her heartbroken triumph alone.

As they trooped up the marble stairs, they took up their default groupings. Ralinn led the pack; Ketara and Raydan chattered right behind her, trying to drag the twins into their conversation; Zethis and Clynine fell into step side by side next, attempting not to shift too close to each other, Lanoré nudging the girl subtly towards the boy. And dithering far behind was lonely Akera.

No one noticed that her eyes had lost their blaze, that her gait was lifeless. Her pale robes trailed on the stairs, her footsteps dragging.

No, no one cared. Perhaps they saw nothing but a stunt for attention. After all, when hadn't Akera tried to draw eyes to herself? It was the reason for her explosive anger, wasn't it? The reason she screamed, and when she wasn't screaming, the reason she tried to impress her intellectual superiority upon everyone.

These ideas had been spread by none other than the guild leader herself. But what guilt was there in taking them up, in maligning Akera? Shehad tried to _murder _Ralinn. The proof was there for everyone to see—those puncture marks spotting her neck, healing pink and livid, malevolent wounds that Clynine's magic couldn't conceal.

But there was another story, the story that Akera could never tell anyone, without contempt. And she couldn't do anything about it, but hold her own. Stand her ground. Pretend it didn't matter. No one would understand that it hurt her just as much as it did Ralinn, after all—she was unwounded. Her facade was delusive pristine. No one would ever see her soul, flayed into deformity, scorched black.

This scar of sin, that would never be erased.

No one knew that she had cried even more than Ralinn had. A heart of fire beating in a chamber of ice. Even more vulnerable, even readier to shatter, than that of the woman who was an unwavering huntress at heart.

* * *

_cetina_

The bottom of the rain-soaked abyss was flooded with echoes.

A stray shaft of light sifted, sifted through the depths, down from the world above, down past the stony overhangs and the swaying coral.

From the bed, Cetina glanced up.

Something in this light was lovely, drawing her in. She wanted to reach out and cradle it. She danced in a slow circle around the blue patch of light glowing on the rocky seabed—but it asked for more.

_Come up, _it whispered, like the sprites of the rivers, but more melodious and more distant. _Come up, where the people play. Come!_

* * *

_orion's belt: the tower to the sea_

Up outside, the city of Orbis was frightfully empty. The pale streets glimmered for their eyes, deserted. Had news spread? Had all the guards left to blockade the ferry terminal?

Because that was what they were banking on. Their belief that the ferry was the only way to Victoria Island.

"Our chance is temporary. Soon, they'll start searching for us. And _then_ we'll have every single guard in Orbis on our tail."

But as they raced down the streets, they found only emptiness awaiting them; even the citizens had grown afraid of the swell in guard numbers, and had locked themselves indoors. The familiar Tower of Orbis rose into view, stark and tall and quite glorious. Paces quickened, the path still clear. The single door grew nearer, nearer, almost shivering with the suspense, innocuously grey in the white wall…

At this juncture, an uneasy calm swept over Orion's Belt. Their route had been miraculously clear so far, and there was something discomforting about walking in the open in one of the king's most heavily-guarded cities, fully armed and conspicuous, without being caught. And when you weren't immediately attacked in a location that made you vulnerable to attack, something far worse had to be on its way.

Disregarding this fear, for she knew there was no choice, Ralinn's fingers touched the door handle.

The rest nodded, full faith in their eyes. "Here goes," murmured the guild leader.

With a click, the metal door swung open, and the entrance was theirs for the taking.

The curtains of shadow fell away, dim sunlight flushed in, setting their eyes alight with that nervous _anxiety_ of a something about to begin. The silence met their ears—and instantaneously, everyone froze—their senses engulfed, _swarmed_ by the malice.

Ralinn gasped at a telltale flash—Orion's Belt only had a few moments to register everything—

_"That's Orion's Belt. Our target."_

Suddenly, the stairs were alive with the knocking of metal, the throaty breathing of men ready for murder…and everyone saw, the soldiers lining up behind the stairs, ready to charge…

Ralinn found her feet locked.

"Oh, _Goddess_," she muttered—and one thing struck her, above all else: she couldn't let them contact the main force. Her gaze darted back. "Someone, lock the door and melt the lock. Quick."

Silence.

"Lock the door! _Do it!_"

A kick from Telida now sent the door banging shut—she twisted the rusty key in its hole; a thin blast of flame from her brother's staff saw the lock dripping molten.

The stones now shivered under their feet, as the boots of guards gathered pace—and Ralinn gave a short glance at everyone else, waiting for a command—when it suddenly struck her that _she_ was the leader, that _she _had to give a call for attack…but her throat was dry, her lips were numb—

It was Shirion who took the jump. As the wave of guards began to break, he—ever the brave one, the commander, the lion with mahogany hair—raised his sword, bared his teeth, bellowed:

_"Forward!"_

The guild rallied behind her, behind him—and together they charged down the stairs to meet their adversaries: this very last fight for their homeward journey.

Everything came in stunted bursts, then—so many shadows. Ralinn's eyes swivelled left and right—from below, armoured bodies thundered up the stairs, and the three warriors flew down it to meet the onslaught. She found that it was so difficult to pierce the darkness; all too soon, though her heart was not ready for battle, she felt her bow's leather grip in her fingers. And that was all she had—the arrows were flickering, hard to aim in the shadows but lethal like bullets. She could not shoot blindly, or she would wound a friend.

Cutting metal twanged at her fingers, time after time after time. The clamour was oppressive—swords and maces smashing into metal somewhere below, lightning crackling. Then there were stars, slicing bowstrings. Her own arrows shattering against armour. Sharp rainbow flashes far below her. Close by, the three warriors advanced, striking and flicking helmets off heads, or were those heads off shoulders? The four mages stood behind the wall that the warriors formed, sending deafening explosions outwards.

All too suddenly, Ralinn found her brother and his sturdy crossbow beside her. With a grin she called over, panting and stumbling down the first steps with another four arrows in hand. He received her arrival with a short bout of teasing, though he never fell off task. "Faster, Linn!" he exclaimed at the sound of sister's voice. "Faster! _Lazy slug_!"

Together they dashed down the next third of the stairs, side by side, and every few seconds they whirled in synchrony to take another guard down with burning projectiles.

"Not bad, but I'd say your aim's getting worse!" Raydan grimaced playfully. The Ranger shot him a stare of disparagement. A guard presently came crashing up the stairs towards them, ending their conversation prematurely—both whirled to face the threat with no seconds to spare.

"This guy's mine!" cried the Ranger, and before Raydan could reach for another bolt, she had taken aim with her quartet of arrows, cried, _"Arrow Rain!"_,and let the glowing shafts soar. The guard took three in the face, and with blood spurting from therein and a wave of guilt on Ralinn's part, he rolled down the stairs to be claimed by the cacophony of weapons.

The Ranger took a sweeping glance across the field of guards to survey their situation, realising with a surge that there were no necromancers.

"Let's go, Dan, we're the furthest from all the—_hey! Wait!_"

Her brave little brother had already gone down the last third of the stairs. Some way beyond, the mages burned through the mass of soldiers, Clynine's green healing light flashing every now and then. Ralinn took a head-spinning breath when she realised she had not been healed by Clynine yet. It was because she hadn't been wounded.

Who knew how many wounds the people at the forefront had already taken? _Lanoré, Clynine, Shirion—_

She traced Raydan, and the arrows were in her fingers before she knew it, sweaty fingers that wouldn't relinquish their grips just yet. Her gaze stayed faithfully upon her brother's back—_keep following, don't let him out of your sight_—and she followed him, bow held high, in guardianship of the blonde youth who was only a boy in her eyes.

* * *

The front advanced, in unceremonious flashes of light. Zethis was the first to arrive at the door at the bottom, and he flung it open, panting deeply for life again. "Go, go!" cried Ralinn, ushering the rest through the door, shoving some through, before following herself. They continued to descend, the wind in their feet, the remaining thirty-odd guards chasing and flinging spears at them, spears that shot by their heads and splintered with blinding force against the white marble.

Their fight ceased, and the chase began. Fighting was needless. The guards were just as wounded as Ralinn's guild members, but _they_ didn't have a Cleric on their side—

_"Clynine!"_ cried Lanoré, catching the girl as she stumbled, abruptly—fell back against her mistress, who had been running just moments ago. Pale and shivering, beads of sweat rising to her forehead, she murmured something soft. The woman answered, equally quietly—and struggled to bring her to stand. But the efforts were in vain. Clynine was losing grip.

A Resurrection, two days of constant Dispelling—and now all this Healing in the thick of battle. She had done the most she could. Far more than she need have. But for now, she was out for the count. And the fact was that the most crucial member in the team had just become a load.

"Alright, guys—can we make it without her?" Akera's quick response came—heartless, but always the one with the contingency plan. "Is anyone still wounded?"

No one responded initially. Then: "My…shoulder," said Ketara simply, gesturing at an arrow that had lodged itself deep into the joint, at the wet waterfall of blood trailing from the wound down his armour and shirt, staining his side to his waist.

Everyone seemed stunned. Enough blood loss, and that wound would kill him.

Akera looked exasperated. "I don't _believe_ you!" she gasped. "Why didn't you get thathealed first?"

"Well, it's too late now, isn't it?" snapped Ralinn in response, coming between her and the Dragon Knight. "Ketara, don't pull that arrow out, whatever you do. Thank goodness it's on your left shoulder. I want you to fight as little as you can, alright?"

"What—but—"

"That's a _bad_ wound," Ralinn went on forcefully. "If you move it too much, you're going to lose enough blood to _die_. And Clynine's not around to help you. You only have this much blood to spend before she wakes up."

The protest came to the warrior's eyes almost instantly. "B-but! I can still—"

"Listen to her!" screamed Telida suddenly, appearing to the Dragon Knight's right, gripping his uninjured arm, staring fierily into his eyes with her own teary ones. "Listen, alright?"

For Telida, there was nothing to fear in their flight from the guards. All her fear was here. It was apparent in her eyes—those obsidian-dark eyes that wouldn't reveal any form of tenderness, but whose blade-like hardness had their own way of showing care. She fixed that gaze, now, upon the black-haired Dragon Knight—a gaze so fierce it would have ripped flowers apart. "I'm not letting you die just because you didn't listen to her!"

"Oh—alright…" He turned away. "Anything for you." Telida pretended not to hear anything.

The world spiralled about them, the stairs turning. Even Ralinn couldn't think anymore. How much she wished they could stop, just for a second. Stop to take stock of everything—bandage Ketara's wound, treat it with some potion, form a strategy, regroup, send a nasty gift backwards at their pursuers—

But there was no time for that, because getting to the coast was everything now. Every second they spent here gave the guards a little more time to contact the main force, and for the main force to arrive at the bottom of the tower.

And this time, there would be necromancers.

Level fifteen. The wind had grown so full of taste, the taste of the snow and the rain—and everyone was already beginning to stumble. But they were saved the need to think, for there was only a single continuous motion, a single direction.

Level fourteen. Stars were bursting in their vision. The doors repeated, and melded into a single impression in the mind—they were echoes of each other, familiar from their upside-down counterparts in Deina's old world.

_Deina, who is dead by now. Dead in a shattered mirror._

_Xelion who must have died already. Despite his brilliance. Who was he, before the Darkness claimed him?_

_Horned Tail, who is dead as well, but with their father._

_How many doors we open, how many doors we close. Or are they still open, waiting for us to return?_

_…_

_Everything is changing. Changing like the seasons of time._

_No return for us. Just forward, forward forever._

Level ten. A moan echoed down the marble stairs, and then, an expired gasp, too easily-recognisable—_Ketara. _The Dragon Knight could proceed no further; he was almost as white as the stones beneath, his eyes shut though they could see he was trying to smile.

His hand slipped around the arrow in his shoulder: his fingers came away red.

Before he could collapse, Telida had snatched him and pulled him upright. But he could not hold out—and then she had him in her arms, her voice caming in tight shrieks—begging him to _stand_, to _get up, _to _not die_—so desperate and terrified that Ralinn felt her eyes cloud up with pain. The thief—ever faithful to her friend—knew that the battle was lost. She heaved his body over her shoulder as far as she could, snatching his Omega Spear away.

"Ketara!" the Hermit screamed again, tears racing unwanted down her cheeks, grip winding tighter around his arm even though she was already so deathly weary. "You're—not going to—die on me!"

The Dragon Knight's head turned. "I'm…so weak," he murmured from over the girl's shoulder. "Should I be embarrassed?"

"Shut up!" answered Telida.

He obeyed. After a brief battle against exhaustion, Ketara's eyes slipped helplessly shut. His blood was seeping down Telida's jacket, onto her shirt. She did her best not to look.

* * *

_Come up, where the people play. They wait with blood and flowers._

Cetina fell into a slow dance, carefully peeling away from the meadow of coral, like a snowflake falling towards the sky, as the tiny tuna and puffer fish shifted away around her.

_When the evening falls. When the sky has melted and flowed off the edges of the world._

_We'll play together, and I'll say goodbye._

_But you must go on, go where I seldom go._

* * *

Ten minutes later, the first inklings of a soft, low grumble began to resound from somewhere beneath them, a soft roar that echoed up the walls, swishing around the last staircase down which they now raced. Paces quickened, worn feet flying desirously across worn rocks. It drew them on, downwards—the sound of the ocean that turned the cold air balmy and tinged it with the scent of salt.

"Can you hear it?" Lanoré was all encouragement, as they descended like doves into the final level. She pressed her head to the door at the bottom of the stairs, her face unwrinkling with comfort, meditative somehow. Ralinn nodded. She smiled. Her hand reached to open it.

With a vast roar that exploded through the doorway, the sound of the sea rushed in Orion's Belt's faces. The waves were crashing and pounding all around them, flooding the empty stairwell. A breeze of warmth spread against their faces—sea breeze.

Beneath the ledge at the edge of the stairs, the entire marble floor of level one was flooded, as if the sea had seeped through the door and claimed the level as a part of itself. The sight of the clear pooling saltwater brought everyone a wave of familiarity. _Deina. Lyssa. _The final chandelier glowed defiantly above them—the last one in the tower, still clinging to its light. Like a letter from the Goddess.

They waded through the waves, one by one, feet sucked in occasionally by the current. Waves splashed against marble walls. Friends dragged each other forward. As they passed through the doorway, the sky bloomed like a forget-me-not above them, one of those flowers from the quaint gardens far away—blue from end to end, top to bottom. Beneath it, the ocean unrolled from their wet shoes to the rippling horizon.

Distantly, Ralinn listened. The sound of the guard platoon was still vibrating in the stones of the wall, but the gap had expanded. Enough.

"Alright. Stay until the signal," said Lanoré urgently, taking a surveying glance and lowering Clynine into Ralinn's arms. The finality, the fragility. Bending to remove her shoes, she pulled them off and pushed them deep into her bag, checking the zip. Then she took her first step into the water.

_Splash._

The rest watched as the sea came to circle her ankles. Mouth thinly closed, eyes calm, she waded further, sea foam swirling around her bare feet, rising to take hold of her legs, her waist.

Twenty yards into the open, waist-deep, and she paused. A moment later, she plunged head-first into the water. Amidst a chorus of worried cries from the bank, Lanoré's face bobbed in the water, blonde hair plastered wet across her face and neck, blue robes blooming visibly beneath the current.

"Come!" she called distantly, voice constricted from the seawater and the cold.

"Hurry!" exclaimed Akera, wading out until she was almost as far out as Lanoré herself. The Fire Poison Mage plunged in, and her silver hair vanished into the icy green-blue of the sea.

Ralinn was seized with fright—but her leadership compelled her to act first. She began her wade next, gripping Clynine's body closer, feet clamped with watery coldness. Her eyes fixed themselves on her two guild mates, far out in the sea, surrounded by the blue.

_We need to do this,_ she thought._ Now or never. Terror, or death._

She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to cry. Then the Ranger turned to face her guild mates, and jumped backwards, Clynine's brown hair fluttering out before her.

The freezing water came to grip her body. Splashing hopelessly in the cold for moments, her kicks gained purpose, and out she propelled herself, arms still embracing Clynine. Then the second jolt of sensation came, and her entire body went rigid in the icy current.

The other seven plunged in and followed, Shirion with his unconscious warrior friend slung over his shoulder, splashes and undulation of water signalling their arrivals. "Everyone here?" called Lanoré, counting. With a nod, she gave a ruthless command to _swim_, and together they pushed forward along the current, kicking against the waves. Beneath them, the security of the shallows was gone. The shore slowly, slowly, slowly moved away. There was only water now.

Minutes of swimming brought them a mile from sea—there Lanoré stopped. "This is far enough," she said, eyes never leaving the far shore. "We sing now."

As if searching for confirmation, the rest stared back at her.

"Sing. As loud as you can."

The Archmage herself closed her eyes, and began to sing. Something strangely familiar.

It was Deina's song, a song that everyone realised they had learnt before, long, long ago—though exactly when, they couldn't remember. One by one, they joined Lanoré in their defiant battle against the howling wind.

_"I might dream and weave and sing_

_And then you might know everything…"_

Nothing was happening, absolutely nothing. In desperation, some gazes travelled back to the shore: where the coast beneath the white tower had once been deserted, it was now thronged, _swarming_ with guards.

"Sing!" growled Lanoré again through gnashed teeth. She continued, in deep tones—some coughed, fighting the sea away.

_"When cradles rise from shattered bones_

_And raise you up into the spring…"_

_Hmmmm… … …_

Gasps escaped from all members of the circle of drifters. Everyone could feel it, vibrating in their bones.

Suddenly, a vast shadow was beneath them—and with it, another song, echoing monstrously through the dark waters.

"It's here," murmured Lanoré, astonished somewhat, voice rising above the sound of their pounding hearts as the shadow rose from below. Gladly, she hummed a short calling melody. It hummed in response, slower, more melodiously. "Yes, this is the creature we're looking for."

Something bumped against her bare feet—and Ralinn shrieked full-out. But in the sound of Lanoré's soothing voice, her terror ebbed, and slowly she entrusted her weight to the creature beneath her, feet slipped across the slimy surface.

It elevated her slowly, like a platform, its motion almost dizzying. "Lanoré!" Ralinn's voice was a desperate rasp, her lips so salty it was almost revolting. "_This_ is a whale?"

"Indeed. Whales, the creatures reputed to have saved countless lives, in the sea between Ellinia and El Nath. We met them first on our journey to Victoria, you know?" She smiled pleasantly. "They are wonderful, intelligent creatures. And quite sweet, too."

As if in response, a vast splash of water erupted from a blowhole in the black floor—the whale's cry rose, like the horn of a ship about to begin its voyage. Lanoré's smile became a grin

Far away, the guards were running off—no doubt searching for a vessel of their own, to begin a chase through the snowy waters.

* * *

_dark lord: an open door_

The sky was crackling with a storm, a storm that spread from the war-ravaged foothills of the Perion mountains to the rims of hollow Ellinia. Within the four clay walls that formed the cavernous abode of the warriors, the Dark Lord was nestled somewhere in the dust, between Dances with Balrog's old shelves.

_"Never will you see neater shelves than mine—my old secretary Ketara really knew how to work!"_

The man flipped the thin blade a few times in his hands. The Perion Chief loved to mention his more outstanding warriors in conversation, but this boy the most. He noted now that there were scrolls scattered about his feet, a scattering of old pipe-weed making acquaintance with the precious texts.

_Neater shelves than yours? _The slender man chuckled inwardly, pulling his left sleeve back. His hand curled a little further around the blade, enough for it to bite into his fingers and leave pale scratches. This knife, it was thin as a tailor's thread-cutter, and barely as long as the palm of his hand. Not the kind of weapon you'd imagine to be utilised in murder.

He twisted it around once more, just to watch the firelight glance off its edge.

In the right hands, the most mediocre tool could steal the life of a man. And these weren't ordinary hands.

Beneath his black sleeve, his arm was pale, but his battle scars showed starkly through his pallor, white patches that couldn't be erased with the most potent chemicals. He sighed and glanced down at his wrist, down at the muscled arm beyond it.

Momentarily, the man fell into thought. _This is the eye of the storm. The calm won't last. It's ending._

He tilted the tip of the slender knife, so it was at an inclination to his arm, searching with its point for a region where the blood vessels did not gather as thickly. Swabbed with spirits and heated over the fire, it wasn't clean enough. The blade could be lethal, laced with the poison of carelessness.

Because there was something years of injury had taught him. The lifeblood flowed everywhere. No part of the body was free of veins and arteries.

_Nowhere is safe._

_I must be careful. I must be ready._

He bit his lip, anticipating.

The burst of cold metal crossing a threshold was raging, excruciating; he struggled with the grip of his teeth to hold the cry between them.

* * *

_dances with balrog: run_

Across the months on this empty mountaintop, Dances with Balrog's caution had gradually dwindled to nothing. What had once been swift pre-dawn hunts had become thrice-daily gallivants. The stringent checks on the mountainside had turned into half-hearted glances. No guards today, so why should there be tomorrow? Why should there be in five months' time?

They behaved as if the entirety of Perion belonged to them, and they were the kings, spared by the scourge with a new world to rebuild. Such folly, knowing that the war had not even begun. But they were heedless; some of the warriors had even begun replanting their family gardens, and no doubt that the presence of green shoots in empty autumn land would give away the existence of civilisation instantly.

Deep in the shadows of the monolithic Warrior Sanctuary, the eleven thieves of Jet had decided to maintain a low profile. _Living up to your reputation, I see, _the chief of the ex-tribe thought. _In your hearts somewhere,_ _you're dying to go out into the open world again._

The chief, however, was not a person of care or caution. What was caution in an abandoned city, after all? What was caution to a warrior, one who swung axes and roared commands? Outside, ashes sailed by like old leaves. The guards believed that Perion was empty. They would not come.

And so it was by this flippancy that this day came.

The first drops of the storm had been pattering down upon the broken streets, and Dances with Balrog had called to his underlings, deciding from the colour of the sky that the rain would be hindering.

He had chosen unconsciously to enter the Sanctuary before his other warriors, because for one thing, he knew they weren't on very good terms with the thieves down in the basement, and for another, he sort-of remembered what Jet had said he would do while they were away. Something not so pretty.

So that was what Dances with Balrog was expecting to see when he came to the door, ajar, and pushed it.

He had about a moment to realise that he had forgotten to close the door. Which meant that the Warrior's Sanctuary would had been in full visibility to the guards for those two long hours, here at the crown of the tallest mountain in the Perion range.

And then there were hoarse bellows, and chains everywhere.

His instincts struck before his mind. He gave only one cry to the warriors outside—_run_—and then he found himself wrestling hopelessly with ten men in clanging armour and a pair of black-charmed manacles, men jabbing him repeatedly in the shoulders with blades.

He saw his own blood explode, and watched the ground hurtle towards him and ram into his face, bare knees and shins scraping against the familiar earthy floor of his once-hidden home.

Someone moaned from ahead of him, amidst the glow of lava beneath the floor, as the guards dragged a dark struggling load from the corner and kicked it into their midst. Chains rattled against stone. There was no protest.

Dances with Balrog raised his gaze, clenched jaw shaking against his teeth. He was staring straight into the black eyes of the Dark Lord—downed like a blackbird by an arrow, arms chained to his back, mouth bound shut by cloth.

* * *

_ralinn: circle_

The ocean was cold and flat, like a slate, the far horizon blurred black by storm. That storm, Ralinn figured, would destroy the guards' attempts to tail Orion's Belt. But just as likely, it would destroy them was the reason no one ever sailed between Ellinia and El Nath, after all.

With no more than a little wailing song, the whale had begun its voyage towards the other side of the sea.

"Keep us safe," she whispered, brushing the hide of the creature beneath her with a hand that shuddered numb in the cold. She could still feel the texture, senseless and throbbing as her fingers had become—skin that was slimy with years of being drenched in the ocean, years of nurturing algae.

The leader of the guild watched as the world passed by and her precious guild mates began to huddle together in the middle of the whale's back. Akera and Turino held their staves together, tips lit aflame, the rest drawing close with hopeful eyes, as close as they could without getting burnt. Closing into a circle. Ralinn shifted as well and joined the circle, a little reluctant to depend upon the white-haired Mage, but too cold to argue against her need.

The warmth burst against her face as she slipped herself quietly into the circle, to the left of Turino. In the crackling orange heat she felt her clothes cease their clinging, her fingers gradually regaining sense. Others found their voices again, and the familiar sound of chatter against the alien roar of the sea was laden with comfort.

The Ranger glanced about, realising that to her left was Shirion. _Shirion._ Her stomach somersaulted. Her fingers wandered leftward to find the Crusader's hand—and when she did, they locked themselves with his.

Her eyes shifted to watch him. He looked so much gentler without his armour, in only a pale shirt, illusory blue in the deep evening. His hair flowed over his shoulders in brown waves she had never noticed were so beautiful. Warm brown, though the colours were thinned in the evening light. Its vividness wasn't hard to imagine. Brown like forests and El Nath cabins.

Shirion turned—and their eyes met most unexpectedly. Ralinn's breath escaped. He smiled back. His grip tightened.

Raydan decided to distract the rest with his laughter before Akera could notice. "We're alive!" he gasped into the sky, where lights were sparkling to life at eastern edge. "On a whale in the middle of the sea—but alive!"

"Well, one of us won't be alive very soon!" Telida, desperately searching her bag till now, leered her answer before the rest could respond. Her jacket no longer lay across her shoulders. Wearing but a plain black shirt and close-fitting Hermit's leggings, ocean-damped olive hair tumbling over her shoulder, it was harder than ever to doubt her beauty. The Ranger smiled in memory. She had been scraggy and thin, back when they had found her, her snowy face so gaunt and ghostly that she had scared everyone in the incomplete guild. And devoid of any scrap of love.

Ralinn watched, a little guiltily entertained. Ketara would be alright, if only barely. It was Telida who would hurt more for it. Telida was searching for her potions, arranging them around her, picking the caps off the bottles, recklessly slopping their contents across the injured warrior's wound.

There were sighs from the circle around her. Three years ago, the thief had cared about no one and nothing. She had been a killer. The only person she had had a chance to love, the twin brother with the burning staff who sat forlorn beside the guild leader, had been no closer to her than the animals in the forest. Just another enemy.

Maybe she had been waiting for someone else. Someone she _could _love. But she had already voided her chances with that _oath_, hadn't she? She would never love anyone male again, and there were no females who could give her the sort of love she needed.

_Why is everyone here so sad? It's like Dan and I have the happiest lives of all._

"Wake up, you idiot!" screamed the thief. Again it didn't wake him. The rest fell very silent. Zethis hugged his bundle-of-clothes closer. Lanoré had temporarily ceased watch over Clynine.

"Stupid guy! Stupid! Don't even _think _I'm going to start crying over you just because you're pretending to be dead!"

But everyone could see that she was crying. The tears sparkled across her cheeks, and the desperation in her eyes was palpable.

From the other side of the circle, Ralinn felt Turino tense up beside her and pull his knees a little closer. "Do you think she loves him?" whispered the Ranger. Turino's staff fire sank a little.

_"Ketara! Don't be a jerk!" _A little distant. _"Stop doing this!"_

The Fire Poison Mage didn't turn, staring out at the dimming ocean. "She doesn't have a choice, does she? She can't love him, or the Clock Spirit will kill her." He pulled his chin a little deeper into his lap.

"That's tough," was the only answer she found within herself.

Telida slapped Ketara repeatedly, as if it wouldn't bruise him no matter how hard she hit, as if it wouldn't hurt when he woke. Her ragged yells of _idiot _and _wake up, _accompanied with the snaps of her palm against his face_, _made it hard for the rest to focus on their food-scrounging.

Lanoré sat cross-legged beside her, chewing on a stick of seal jerky. "Give him a rest," murmured the Archmage, lowering the meat slice. "It's obvious he's out; you aren't doing him any favours by hitting him."

The woman's calm murmur was met by a caustic glare from Telida. The beginnings of a snarl rose in the Hermit's throat, and at the same time everyone braced themselves—ready for a barrage of retorts.

Yet that was not what followed. All it took was a glance at the slumped figure of the poor little Dragon Knight, limbs sprawled haphazardly over the whale's shimmering back. Telida was as silent as midnight. Then with a sigh that could have been a sob, she nodded once, and hugged her knees against the cold, refusing to look at Ketara any longer. Maybe she was angry; maybe it hurt too much.

Everyone was quiet for now, clawing for the remains of sodden old food from their bags without a word.

Ralinn's gaze wandered, half-consciously. Raydan was beside Lanoré, who nursed Clynine quietly in her lap. Zethis leant over in concern; to his left sat Turino, carrying the torch. Telida was on Shirion's other side; she wasn't done with Ketara, it seemed. Then the last at the circle, between the unconscious Dragon Knight and Raydan, was Akera. Raydan and Lanoré were in a hushed conversation. Zethis had crawled closer to Clynine.

And the expression in Akera's flame-drowned eyes said nothing.

"Food?" inquired Shirion briefly, extending a hand that held a small packet of peanuts. Ralinn's gaze lingered upon the white-haired girl at the other side of the circle. She was watching them—but the anger that should have been did not surface.

For a moment it was unfamiliar, and the Ranger wondered if she had truly done her horrible deed in blind insanity. But the memory of her needles drained these doubts away.

She took a peanut from the packet, remembering to smile imperiously at Akera.

* * *

_akera: fire eyes_

The cold of midnight spiralled in around them, and by then half the guild was curled in uncomfortable sleep. Peaceful as the night grew, with the whisper of a faraway storm, there was much tossing and turning there.

Lanoré stayed a little longer to find something warm and dry in which to wrap Clynine, certain she would fall very sick if she went unprotected. But the woman, too, eventually turned in before the twelfth hour.

At last, only two people were left awake. Akera found herself holding the staff to the night wind, defying it with determination. The flame crackled almost devilishly from the tip, strong enough despite her sorry state to warm everyone. Kept alive with the last emotion she felt: guilt.

Her head was swimming with ideas. Of ways she could run away when everything ended. Ways she could kill herself. Ways she could atone for her sins: somehow they all ended in death anyway.

When had she doomed herself like this?

"The cold will be too much without fire, won't it?" Turino's voice murmured across to the girl. She raised her gaze at the sound, suddenly alerted again to the mage's presence. It was uncommon to hear him speak, and his voice caught her fascination now. "Would just oneof us be enough to keep them warm?"

Akera frowned with disdain. "Are you asking _me _to stay up all night?"she answered, snappiness dulled by exhaustion.

Surprised, the male Mage glanced away into the sea, and the female couldn't help but notice the way his hair matched the night sky, blended straight into it. He had changed, somehow. Not as combative as before. A strange echo of herself. Was the weight of the past growing too heavy for him, just as it was for her?

"No, I meant _you _rest. I'll stay up."

Expectations shockingly unmet, she inspected his face, turned away in unnecessary self-consciousness. There and then, she realised vaguely: hadn't _he _always been there? Every single time Shirion had looked the other way, hadn't _he _been there, ready to give to her what the Crusader had not been kind enough to offer?

The one dark as night. The one who hid in the shadow, the one who waited quietly.

_…I've tried so hard, so long, to cast him away. But he's the _single _person in the world who would forgive me. Why do I try to turn him away?_

"I don't mind, in case you're worried about that."

Proper words failed the white-haired girl. "I'm sorry," she murmured, and suddenly her throat clogged up.

He didn't seem to notice. "You're still trapped, aren't you? By that thing you told me about last year, in the forest."

Akera instantly recalled what she had said to him then. _Real pain, _she had claimed in tears, _is when you have no chances left, to erase what wrong you've done. _She had felt those words fully last time, but only now did she understand their full weight.

_Look at yourself _now_. You're better than that! Why can't you __control_ _yourself? Because you've submitted yourself to the certainty that you'll never redeem yourself? Because you're sure doing a little more wrong won't make things any worse?_

Then, yet again, Turino did what no one else could. He held her gaze with those eyes the colour of night—and matched her in stubbornness.

"Forget about it." He sounded gravely tired. Their flames were descending; the cold was beginning to creep in. "You're always so hung up about things you can't change, always worrying. I frankly thought better of you."

"Well, that's unfair," snapped the Mage rapidly. "Things don't seem to be getting any better between you and your sister!"

"Things don't seem to be getting any better between you and the _world_."

There was an indignant silence for a little while, and a few wintry gusts through the ocean, which they fought by raising the fire a little higher. In it, strangely lonely at the sight of her quietly-sleeping guild mates, Akera realised that he might be her only friend left.

"I didn't mean to be harsh," he answered very quietly, the wind quickly coming to swallow his words.

Sudden and brief as a spark, Turino's gaze met hers. For a second, Akera felt as if she had been nailed to the spot, her eyes affixed to his—as if she were watching the night sky erupt with fireworks. There was something in his _expression _that was so fresh. So unlike her old sweetheart Shirion, who had always been perfect in her eyes, perfectly _good_.

It was disrespect. Dangerous disrespect. There was none of the politeness that characterised Shirion so well. He was wilder. Someone who dwelled outside the fence, while everyone else so obediently abided by it. Almost…an escape.

Shirion didn't seem so wonderful anymore, did he?

Akera managed a smile, one that made the male Mage turn away. His staff flame was suddenly dazzling, throwing orange streams of light across the water for many feet in all directions.

"Go sleep," she whispered over her shoulder, and the tenderness in her voice came naturally.

Turino didn't budge. "I'm not sleeping before you," came his stubborn answer. Stubborn as the never-lifting shadows over the Dungeon.

"Yes, you _are_," she insisted, just as stubborn. Like the white rocks of Lith Harbour on the west coast of Victoria Island. Here they engaged in an unspoken battle of glares, but then his black gaze grew too fierce and eventually she gave in, lowering her staff slowly as her flame wisped into nonexistence.

"If you want to suffer the entire night, so be it."

As Akera lowered herself to the cold back of the whale, she caught a glimpse of her fellow Fire Mage's tired but victorious smile. And to her surprise, it didn't make her sore to know she had conceded defeat.

* * *

_celel_

Celel Adara lowered her papers and brushed the mess on her tabletop aside. The corridor outside her office door was suddenly full of echoes, clumsy footsteps on wood and cries of someone she didn't know.

_Who…the hell…? No one said anything about a visitor—how rude…_

It almost surprised her, then, when one of Captain Shore's messengers burst through her door onto her gleaming parquet floor, red from breathlessness. She couldn't forget that hexagonal badge: a hexagon, a snowflake.

"Where are your manners?" she snapped.

The messenger briefly bowed. "The message is urgent," he muttered. Before she had a chance to reprimand him, he had already begun delivering his message. "Orion's Belt—the guild last sighted in Orbis—departed for Ellinia five days ago—on a whale! They could be here any time—and you must prevent—"

"_Whale?_ Who, the band of rebels? Those ten kids?"

Three rapid nods.

She stood abruptly. "What happened to Ilden's _stepped-up defence? _They got away on a_ whale?_"

She didn't wait for an answer. Celel's mind had been kicked into high-gear; she was already busy formulating a follow-up plan in her mind. This was a test, and her response to the guild's arrival would be crucial to the king's assessment of her skill. _I cannot fail. I cannot let them through. I must guard my coast like a dragon guards her pearl…_

But something about this guild made her nervous, very nervous. They had driven Xelion Narias to suicide. The greatest necromancer of all.

_No, no matter. He was unlucky, and unprepared. We have more to our disposal. More resources, and more time._

Celel dismissed the messenger before her with but a single, forceful gesture. "Go back to Ilden, and tell him I won't fail the way he did," called the captain after him. He vanished, with bowed head and squared shoulders. "Alio, I have a job for you."

At his desk, her olive-haired spokesperson snapped to attention. Captain Adara fixed her eyes upon his.

"Find that guard who calls himself a whale hunter. Tell him we need his help. If he accepts, take him here, to my office, immediately."

* * *

_ethiel: endless as the night_

The prison cart and its dark horses vanished, at last, into the jaws of the next valley. There they stood, quiet as midnight—eleven thieves with nothing left in the world for them except the friendships of over a decade.

Their Haste-lightened footsteps grew clumsy and fell out of rhythm, decelerating rapidly into silence.

"I mean it. It's a lost cause," gasped Lawrence, faltering to a stop.

Pan was the fastest to protest. "But we can't just—"

Erin's eyelids snapped shut against the winter cold. Images flashed by. The Dark Lord—leaping from a secret rafter just as the heist was turning sour. The Dark Lord, dashing the windows open so he could perform his magic. Throwing off the air duct cover, his multi-bladed dagger flashing. Always there.

As he spoke, she could see how Pan Ixora Ethiel's eyes dimmed. This race was doomed to kill them. They would either run until they had saved him—or until they could run no longer.

"I never once imagined I'd even consider it—abandoning our Dark Lord." Erin heard Claire mutter to Jonathan behind her.

"Well, we won't." The man's sturdiness was perhaps what she needed most. As his gaze departed from her, his voice rose to address everyone. "We won't give him up, will we, Ethiel? We lived by his power and survived by his compassion! He gave this much to us, and now we must give it back! Will we—?"

Then, he blinked. And his eyes said it all—_a plan_.

"Look, I have an idea." He gestured the rest closer, eyes passionate suddenly. "We can gain on them if we take a shortcut."

Dalran craned his head forward in incredulity. "Like what, hop down and take a bypass road around the next mountain? Look, they'll be out of these valleys before we've even passed half of them."

"No, you see, I'm talking about a bigger shortcut here!" Jonathan's words came rapidly. Claire shifted closer, eyes hopeful. "They're riding a cart. They _have_ to take the highway—through the range, south through Ellinia, west to Henesys. A whole round trip on the border of the island."

Jon's idea had begun to dawn on the others, and there were sudden knowing gasps from all around. But Dalran was slow on the uptake.

"You get it now? We'll go southwest. Cut through the Greater Forest," he exclaimed with agitated excitement, gesturing at the dark forest that occupied the entire space between the mountains and the fields in the south. "Take the hypotenuse to their right-angle. We won't go as far into the forest as the Dungeon, but deep enough to make our journey many miles shorter than theirs."

"And then?" questioned Erin, the drive that had been guttering in her heart suddenly rekindled.

"We intercept the cart. Or if the cart has already arrived in the prison, we go into temporary hiding in Henesys, find someone to help us, and free him. The sooner, the better. While he still believes in a chance that he'll escape."

Patricia found the urge to object at this point. "And…who? Who will help? How do we know if Henesys is even _willing _to rebel? Last I heard, more than half of the citizens have become mindless goons of the king."

"No…" murmured Lawrence now. "I _do _know some people who could help. Many people. Some friends whom I made a few years ago…"

Jonathan clapped his hands once. "Then we are ready," concluded the Chief Bandit, turning off the main road and racing towards where the incline of the mountain began.

"Come, guys!" yelled Erin backwards, sure-footed enough that she didn't have to watch her step as she scaled down the mountainside. "Jet will be proud of us. We'll make him proud of us!"

* * *

_dark lord: capture_

Jet felt every bump of the road deep in his gut as it passed underneath the wheels. He shivered a little, but the windowless wooden cart gave enough insulation that the Perion winter air didn't plague him too harshly. _Not bad, _thought the man, with whatever capacity for idle musing he still had. _Recruiting the countrymen for the factories has done much good for your castle and your regime, has it not?_

_Too bad it'll never be your country, those people never your countrymen._

The last thought made his mouth flood with bile and fury.

Jet closed his eyes. The wood beneath him was top-quality, but provided no more comfort than would some crudely-sawed softwood planks. He ached everywhere, on the surface and deep within, most of all from where the blade had cut him.

_I might prove myself an idiot yet, for doing something so reckless. _

But for now it served no purpose to regret, he was reminded, over and over, with every leap of the cart from the path. From nearby, the bundle of cloth and blood that was his companion Dances with Balrog groaned. Even if he was conscious, he was too exhausted to offer conversation.

Together. They would be thrown into prison together. _You and I again. I thought our adventures had ended. How many trials more will we face together?_

_And will there be escape for us? Once I am locked up, is there any reason to try to leave confinement?_

Maybe a while ago, he'd still be considering escape at this juncture. But that will for freedom, that desire to contribute to the uprising, had died in him.

Because he was no longer necessary.

_You think you have quelled the rebellion by capturing me, don't you?_

He had outlived his usefulness. His own freedom and happiness was inconsequential.

It was _his people_ who had made him afraid to die. His importance as a symbol of the uprising. The power he had to rally his people.

But recently Jet had heard fragments of news on the wind somewhere, between traders in the Kerning marketplace: new people, rising to lead the country—new people with such fire in their veins it made the king's guards tremble.

He retired to the cobwebbed corner of the cart, resting against the grimy wood. Vaguely, he heard some sort of conversation up at the front of the cart. A raptor screeched, and a beating of wings followed, coming through the thin gaps between the wall planks.

"Check the hawk," came the faint voice of one of the men outside.

A rustle of paper; another hawk's screech. "Ah, some update," answered another in a sigh. "The other two were captured long ago, and are already on the castle grounds. We are the last to arrive."

The other sounded like he was spitting at the ground. "Well, let them gloat all they want! We'll show them when we arrive with _two_!"

Somewhere inside the belly of the cart that rattled as the road rose and fell, Dark Lord sneered at the black wall, his last show of defiance. Then he breathed out hollowly, resting his dizzy head against the dirty wood behind him, and submitted at last to the fate he had evaded for a decade.

* * *

_perion: as the hawk flies_

The cry of the hawk echoed deep into the snowy night on the peaks of Perion.

Beneath the moon, thin as it was yet brilliant enough to set the snow glowing, eight figures stood like bastions on the mountainside—the eight warriors whom Dances with Balrog had chosen to protect, at the expense of his freedom.

_Run!_

The word, that last word of their master and chief, their father and their servant, still echoed in them and across the dark spaces between them, whenever they stood in silence and gazed at one another, lost and weary but never hopeless.

_If ever we do return to the rocky slopes of Perion, I will rebuild our home right where it once stood._

_Do not believe it too soon, Crouching Bear. Life will show you that optimism is often misplaced._

From the stony crevice in the rock, they lowered their firelight-brilliant gazes at the Deep Valley, where the boars ran rampant.

Perhaps this would be their last sight of home before they mounted their only living horses and rode the lonely path down into the ruins of Kerning City. They didn't intend to rest after this, not until they had found their way to Dances with Balrog. In Kerning, they would scavenge through the exploded ruins for provisions, and call into the night sky beyond its fantastical spires, hoping to catch the ear of any possible survivor still residing there, refusing to give up on life.

When they were ready, they would turn towards Henesys, where they reasoned every captive would eventually be delivered. Maybe Dances with Balrog among them.

And they would either fight for him, or fight the ones who had taken him away.

Maybe he would be locked in a vault that would never open till he was dead. It didn't matter; they would follow their chief still. Life into death.

* * *

Aismeth's knock of return came a mere minute after she had departed, and from the rhythm of the tapping of her fist against his door, he knew she had good news to bring.

"Messages from Mr. Hesprel," she murmured as she slipped between doors and sailed soundlessly across his carpet, tall velvet curtains swaying so the arched window behind revealed the early morning on his barren grounds, and shadows danced across her pale countenance and in her red-brown eyes.

He shifted forward, hand outstretched. Good news from Esharo. Good news from his guards. It could only mean…

_Your Highness,_

_Three of my four capture teams have reported back with good news. The Perion team had themselves the luck of a double catch. Two of four teams have arrived in the castle with their bounty; the other two are currently on their return routes. I await your next orders._

_Esharo_

And then there was a grin pulling his lips wide, before he could even begin to _realise_ every ramification of that note. A grin that gave him the appearance of a madman, he saw from his reflection in the angled glass of his cabinets.

A madman, yes. A mad genius.

"Your reply?" murmured Aismeth from behind the monarch's desk, presenting him his most well-used quill with outstretched hand and slack fingers. He took it, a little more brutally than he intended, and with a sweeping gesture set himself down on his great armchair, searching with age-slowed but excited hands for a blank sheet on which to begin his returning note.

_Excellent news! Now do not slacken just yet; they will no doubt be formulating at every moment a plan for escape. Very importantly, do not allow them any contact with each other, not even visual contact. Keep them at the four corners of the prison, and ensure that patrols are in excess._

_Caleix_

* * *

_turino: into the storm_

"It's a downhill journey from here—or would that be uphill? Downhill in the sense that it gets worse; uphill in the sense that it gets exponentially harder."

That was Lanoré's highly encouraging preparatory speech, as the border of the storm approached in the thick grey sky above, and the whale beneath them gave a moan of warning.

"Was that supposed to help our spirits?" demanded Akera. "What's wrong with you?"

Others took her outburst as a good sign. In the past nine days sailing on the whale's back, they had not heard a word from the Fire Poison Mage—and some had begun to worry that perhaps she was starting to ail.

_She's losing it,_ Turino found himself thinking, watching silently from a side as she curled her hands into fists and stared down at her lap, face just as pale as it had always been. _She's lost hope in the world._

Somewhere close by, the Mage heard, superimposed against a rumbling roll of thunder, the sound of Ketara's sleepy sigh. Days after his injury, his situation was improving. His left arm still hung limp from his shoulder, and he needed help standing sometimes.

Telida glanced back at the sound of his awakening, lowering her breakfast. "You sleep like a baby," she muttered, to which the Dragon Knight offered a regretful grin. "Did you hear what Lanoré just said?"

"Yeah…uh, what did she say?"

Turino's gaze wandered back to his hands, pale and tinged most delicately blue from the coldness. He was struck by fear, fear at what he was becoming.

_Why do you _still _care? _snapped the ghost of his vengeful past-self, suddenly, from somewhere behind the bars of his mind. _She'll never be yours! She'll never see you! Why have you not learnt that loving someone so much is futile? Why haven't you learnt to stop caring? Why does your heart still hurt for her?_

"Heads up, everyone!" cried Lanoré from somewhere beyond his mind. Her silhouette stood tall near the blowhole of the whale, her staff glowing almost as blue as his fingers. The air whooshed around them as the whale cried in terror, an unevenly-shaped shield blooming in front of the Archmage and expanding into a glass-like chamber around them, sealing itself onto the wet back of the cetacean beneath.

With a smile that radiated satisfaction, Lanoré gave a small bow and lowered herself to her place in the circle once more, sweeping scattered pieces of ice off her seating place.

"That has got to hurt, at least a little," whispered Clynine nearby.

"Well, we must do what we must," she answered. "The elements know no mercy."

These words were without warmth. Turino found them a little cruel, strangely.

* * *

_the hunt_

"A promotion?" Garth's eyes glittered. Somehow, he could not simply take these words as they were. It wasn't possible, because since when did Captain Adara offer promotions so freely? "For a whaling job? That's all? Seriously?"

The Captain herself had first come to his part of the camp that morning, speaking his name to all his companions. When the news had arrived, he had found himself suddenly breaking out in cold sweat. He had expected to be receiving the sentence that would end his life.

But then, he discovered: he wasn't going to be killed—he was being asked to kill another.

"The whale will have human riders," the woman answered to his query, perhaps worried that he would quail at the thought of homicide. She stood almost a head shorter than he, he couldn't help noticing—but her deep black eyes commanded a fearsome power that, even then, merely belied her true skill.

"I'm not unfamiliar with murder." His voice rumbled heartily, even though the most terrifying necromancer in Ellinia was staring up at him. "So…let me get this right. I will be promoted in exchange for a small whaling job. Did I hear wrong?"

"Correct," answered Captain Adara, and in those words, his mind reeled. "Kill the whale, and you will be made a squad leader."

_Promotion. For doing the thing that I'm best at._

"Yes, ma'am. I will do as you command. When do I hunt this whale?"

* * *

For a few days, the storm thickened black beyond the glassy ice. Within the confines of the dome, they bowed away from the light, fearing that the storm would shatter Lanoré's shield of ice. But as the shadows thinned with the sound of the rain, Lanoré stopped rebuilding the dome. It melted naturally, running off the whale's edge to join the ocean—and for the first time in six days, the morning shone blue through the shield.

"Well, that's quite a change!" exclaimed Ketara, his gaze caught in the wondrously blue sky. "No more storm."

"Stop staring at the sky; go talk to your Telida," answered Raydan with a grin, shoving his protesting self onto his side.

Their days were spent in the darkness of fear, the conversations hours-long, and full of tears. Finally, the pressure had grown too much; the tension was cracking through their stubborn shields—the ache of the world on their shoulders, too heavy now to bear.

How long more were they to run? How many more would they murder? When would it finally end, this chase across the world that had lasted seven years?

They cried together, for anger at what the world was becoming—for the change that was coming over this world, too fast for their reckoning.

_What's waiting for us there, there beyond the western horizon? What has Victoria Island become? Will we find whom we seek?_

And in this fear, they grew closer to each other—learning to share their misgivings and pains, learning to find hope in each other's eyes. In the sunset, they sat in communion—a circle, as always. A circle, for the turning of time. Lanoré had learnt to catch fish with ice, and Turino was a surprisingly adept cook. Occasionally, with the fish, there would be shrimp and cuttlefish; they lived on these things alone. _It's the best we can do._

In the night, Clynine would sometimes be found with tears in her eyes, staring up at the stars and praying for hope upon them. She looked at Orion sometimes, wondering if the hunter of the sky would grant them blessings.

"It won't be too long now," murmured Ralinn, coming to lay beside her, her arm about the shoulders of the weakening Cleric—the one to whom she owed her life. Twice over. "It won't be long. Don't be afraid." Zethis joined them sometimes; he wasn't much of a conversationalist, but his presence was enough to make the girl weakly smile.

* * *

By the time Ellinia came into distant view, their supplies had run dangerously low; even Raydan with his old stash of chips and candy had gone dry.

"I'm hungry…" moaned the Sniper as he licked his fingers, hunched over his big, empty paper bag. Everyone had made a habit of ignoring him by concentrating on better companions. Abandoning his laments, the neglected archer looked about, a big pout on his face.

And that was when, far out beyond the sea, he caught sight of something that no one else had seen before this—a line of uneven grey, a layer on the horizon.

_Trees. Bare trees._

_Ellinia._

"Guys!" With a rousing whoop of joy, the Sniper stood. "Ellinia is coming! We're almost there! We're arriving!"

They turned in unison, and saw the branches that swayed above the sea. A cheer went up around him. "Finally!" cried Ralinn—she pounced upon her brother with wide arms, and they stood hugging and laughing for an entire minute.

Akera, however, was not convinced. "They know," she murmured darkly, staring at her lap. Beside her, Telida sighed, and Ketara listened. "We gave them a week. They _know_ we're coming. They'll be ready for us."

Though they wished it wouldn't eventually happen, wished it weren't true, everyone knew she was right.

* * *

The enemies. The enemies. They had been sighted in the bay, two miles away. The whisper swept rapidly through the ranks, until they arrived in the ears of the hunter at the docks.

_It is time. _He pulled on his gloves, bared his teeth in pleasure, crossed the gangplank.

"Do your work well." Captain Adara's last words to the Garth, before he performed his momentous task, were simple. "We will be behind."

Then the boat was chugging through the grey ocean sky. He stood tall at the hull, his lips drawn tight, his eyes narrowed cold against the rush of waves. His countenance was set like stone, not from graveness but from a madman's wilfulness—and hunger, hunger at the prospect of his _reward_.

_I will become a squad leader today. I earned the right from Captain Adara herself!_

But celebration quickly gave way to alertness, for he could not rest until his success was secured. He knew too well; too many times had he lost his prey out of complacency. Garth's eyes snapped to a spot in the distance, his uncertain gaping mouth transforming into a hungry, wolfish grin. A familiar black shape was rising into view—right on time.

"This is it, Orvin!" announced the hunter, eye never leaving the black patch in the waves. His right hand man grunted in acknowledgement. "This will be our greatest kill yet. Prepare the harpoon."

_And they won't even know what hit them._

The hunter raised his face to the air, breathing the smell of the thunder, the end. "Ah, I love the taste of the wind before the kill!"

He gave them a few seconds more—a few seconds to draw into his trap. And perhaps they understood; some were staring, yelling to each other in alarm. He shook his head—for a moment, he had almost _pitied_ them! But they were doomed. They could not speak to the whale, and the whale could not understand. It probably thought that the ship hull it saw approaching was just another friend.

_That's what you get for trusting __and loving __humanity, _animal_. Your compassion is your downfall, and your sacrifice will be forgotten._

With a grip firm with ruthless pleasure, Garth took his weapon from Orvin, eyes narrowed.

* * *

"—Oh Goddess, no. No—"

Clynine slid behind her mistress, gripping her shoulders tight, sheltering her face behind her. She—everyone—knew what was to come.

It all happened so suddenly. Their eyes hardly caught it. It flashed, fragmenting the second—the bellow, the twist of his body, the trajectory of the spear—

The Cleric began to scream before she could realise—scream, and scream, because something irreversible was about to happen.

A thud, of metal in flesh, skin giving way, blood vessels breaking.

The creature beneath her flailed, moaning—as it lurched, Ralinn screeched, slid, scrambled for a nonexistent handhold, tumbled, fell through the ocean-spray wind—and then, engulfing her, a majestic explosion of silver-green and white.

Splashes threw her about. Raydan was yelling in fright through the spray; that horrifying sound stabbed her through the heart. "Raydan!" screamed the Ranger, fighting towards her brother. The whale shrilled again, thrashing in its own blood, blood blossoming on the ocean surface, washing the crests black.

_"Another spear!"_

They watched, wide-eyed, as a rain of blood erupted like the red spray of a blowhole. The whale cried; its moan of agony was almost, painfully, human.

But there would be no one to save it.

"The boat!" roared Lanoré to her underlings, pushing madly through the current, her staff lit blue in her fingers. "Take the hunter's boat! That's our way back! _Capture it!_" She aimed her spells as best she could, though the waves tossed her about, and her eyes were blurred by the sea. "Clynine, forget the whale! We need to save—"

_Thud._ Another wound burst. The water frothed pink. Clynine's body was pressed close against the great animal's hide; she felt the jerk of the spear entering.

"We _can't_ let it die; it saved us—"

"Let it go, Clynine! People die; creatures die—there's nothing we can do about it! All we can do is move forward!"

In those words, the healer began to weep.

The whale seemed to hear Clynine's sorrow, and it struggled to comfort her, dying as it was. A few long, fading notes rose around them. The whale's throat was full of half-dreamt desire. It thrashed once more, bleeding a waterfall whose warmth faded into the winter-cold, of icebergs it used to visit.

"Please, not yet!" cried Clynine, regardless of everything her mistress had so furiously told her. Her fingers clung to the whale, _her _whale, as if that alone would keep it from dying. "You can't leave, not for us—_not for us—_"

But, then, it was quiet, like someone waiting for a journey to end. It seemed to know that that was the best way to comfort the girl.

"_Blizzard!_" thundered Lanoré, her staff letting loose a blast of blue light. The hunter yelled in horror, stumbling across the deck, blinded momentarily. In the background, working efficiently and invisibly as always, the two archers swam to grab the sides of the vessel, Zethis searching for the escape ladder.

The whaler was not incapacitated for long; he knew the cold of the snow too well, and braved it like an unmovable rock. Exploding through Lanoré's Blizzard ice, he gasped, ghost-faced, hand still gripping a fourth spear as if it were his rope to heaven. But this all managed the misdirection perfectly—behind him, at Akera's command, Orion's Belt members were scrambling on board unseen.

Blood had swallowed everything, red water swirling around the hull. The man raised the spear, shivering, mad to see death. "You will die at my hand!"he bellowed, eyes wide. If the whale had not died yet, he _swore_ it would—it was the reason he stood, the reason he _lived, _here in the storm of the minutes. It was the reason he was here! He aimed his last spear, waiting for his chance, waiting for his window to attack…

And he would have murdered the whale at last. Until Clynine's next scream set everything in motion. Shirion could bear it no longer, watching the girl suffer like this—already on deck, behind the man—close enough, just close enough—he was suddenly pushed past breaking point, past all reason. Yelling for rage with a swing of his arm, the Crusader flung his sword, spinning, at the hunter. With a clash like thunder, it knocked him to the ground, throwing his body back a few feet and sending out a scattering of bloody drops.

"Get on, the rest of you!" commanded Lanoré fiercely; their time was running, running out. The rest clambered up the ladders at her command; she imprisoned the staring, grotesque body in ice, before recalling instantly that her assistant was still in the sea. Her composure was lost; she whirled to face her, face rife with some strange madness. "Clynine! Get back here!"

She was shaking; her wet brown eyes would not leave the creature before her. The great whale, which had been generous enough to take them home, and die for their sake.

_With life comes death._

_With life comes sacrifice._

She let go, let everything go. The black fin slipped between her arms, slowly, sinking to the depths where it had once hidden, vanishing into the underwater caverns, into the shadow that swallowed everything.

As she swam towards the boat, something had died in her eyes, along with the sea beast. She crawled, dripping, onboard, struggling to stand on wobbling legs. Zethis was waiting for her; she sank against him, coughing and sobbing all at the same time, and he held her close. The sea was red; it dyed her pale clothes crimson and engulfed their world in the smell of iron. The wind _stank_ of iron, and death. Light gleamed on the water, and the sun turned red for the creatures beneath.

"It's always like that," murmured Ketara. "They die for us, why?"

The engine groaned, roared, started up again. The Archmage had eliminated all the crewmembers, and Akera had taken the helm of the guard boat. She steered with the easy determination of someone made mad by the approach of their destination. Sickened, some collapsed into a corner, withdrawn and shivering—either hugging each other, or curled up to retain their body heat.

Lanoré straightened suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Guards," she muttered. Her gaze wouldn't leave the horizon, and soon everyone knew why.

In the time they had spent claiming the boat, _they _had come to swarm the entire bay. Guard boats, similar to their own, _cluttered_ the horizon, a floating wall all the way along this section of the coast, for quarter a mile on either side. Every deck was thronged with guards.

In an almost simultaneous movement from end to end of the coast, the arc of staves flared, red beacons in the distance.

"Akera!" shrieked Telida, clinging like a raptor to the rails of the deck. "Akera, _faster_!"

Spurred by panic, the Mage slammed at all the unlabelled levers, hammered every button, futilely—she threw her arms up. "Damn it!" she exclaimed backwards, eyes wild. "Come steer it for me, won't you? _Won't you?_"

Even as she went temporarily berserk, the first wave of necromancer magic exploded in the water before the hull—and the rocking of the boat sent its passengers sliding, falling across the deck. Raydan clung to Shirion for support. Ketara hung onto the rail, gripping Telida's wrist so she wouldn't fall—the exchange of gazes between them was almost heartbreakingly passionate.

"Come on, we're almost there," Lanoré said. "A little further."

Her words had irked them before—but now they spurred everyone into action. They might desire with all their hearts to rest, or to drop dead—but that was only selfish. And irresponsible. And impossible. Now, with an entire nation's fate lying with them. Lanoré's voice reminded them of that. Their duty. Their destination.

The danger was real and close, close as the sea spray that swished up the hull like white serpents, close as that scent of black lightning. Close enough to strike the fear deep. The guard vessels had moved in.

_Close enough._

"We're doing this. Victoria Island needs us to do this. We _have _to make it."

The plan had been etched into their minds, one week ago: everyone remembered it now, more lucidly than ever.

There was just this wall of boats now, barricading their final passage onto the Ellinian coast—and all the guards in between, intent on destroying them.

"Spare no one!" they heard the yells of the female captain beyond the spraying waves. "They're _not_ reaching the shore, you hear? They're _not_ returning! Staves—_ready!_"

_We are returning, home._

At that very second, Akera abandoned the wheel. She flew to the bow of the boat, staff bursting spontaneously into flame.

"Akera—" gasped Lanoré—but the Archmage understood immediately, and went to take the steering wheel.

"Go on. Do your magic."

The red glow grew dangerously bright on the fortress of boats, a colossal arc spread across the entire Ellinian coast, carrying a thousand dark magicians. _A thousand against ten._ Their lone rebel vessel drifted in the centre, divided from the attackers by a narrowing margin of water; around them the crackle was stunning—hundreds of staves, all focused on the same single point. Akera.

_"Aim!"_

The Mage screamed, staff whisking the sky—exploding with an arc of fire—the most horrifying spell anyone there had ever seen emerge from its tip before. It was a circle, like the corona of the sun—sweeping across the sea, rumbling with heat on the currents.

They had hardly seen her face so contorted, her eyes blink so bright with fury. Her eyes, deep brilliant sky blue mirrors. In them, everything could be seen: the boats bursting into flame, men leaping, screaming, into the ocean—driven to madness by the fire they had never had to fear.

A cry of jubilation rose from Orion's Belt, for Akera had won them the chance they would never have had otherwise: the vast line of patrol boats had been shattered. And everyone saw the chance, as clear as a sunbeam piercing the wind in a straight line, between the boats, their thundering motors, their chaotic crews. A space, a space that they could exploit.

"Akera, that was awesome!" Raydan yelled, scrambling to the front of the boat while Lanoré sent the boat on full speed. "Do it again!"

Ellinia drew closer, its winter-barren treetops swaying. The water swallowed everything, the cacophony of commands and pleas and dismembered exclamations—under the veil of the ocean's roar, their small vessel endeavoured, madly, for that narrow space, in the half-light of the evening that had begun upon Ellinia without warning.

The tension was at its maximum. The eyes of the guild followed the boats, fists clenched around the rails. On each deck, the necromancers were recovering, and the fires Akera had ignited had died in whirls of smoke. Again they readied themselves at the bows, angrier than ever—their captain angriest of all.

"We're entering the frontline," announced Lanoré. "Brace yourselves, guys. Bows, stay back. You'll waste your arrows. Clynine, with Akera at the front. Ready something. Anything. Be ready to retaliate."

_"Staves—ready!"_ The necromancers were up once more, and the captain's command swept across the barricade like a gust of wind. Crackles rose, like the first lines of a symphony. The dark red glow ascended like sunrise. Staves hummed with sheer black magic.

The chants of necromancers and guards became close, so close, they could almost smell the sweat and feel the voices vibrating in the deck.

_"Aim!"_

"Good luck, good luck to all of us!" Ketara yelled—

_"Fire!"_

—and they plunged into the space between two boats, the hulls crashing against each other.

* * *

There might have been thunder overhead. He had heard Akera's cry, and now he smelt the purity of her fire purging the air. As the light flooded in, he caught sight, beyond the rails, of another circle of fire rippling outwards, one that would have sent the necromancers back into complete havoc.

Except they had learnt and they were ready—and he heard, against the pounding of water on hull, the clanging of bronze shields awakening alongside the horrified, gleeful yells of men high on adrenaline—a clamour that made his blood burn, suddenly, with the heat of battle.

So much closer now. The voices of the enemy thundered close in his ears—necromancer voices that seemed human yet spoke in cruel, toneless bellows. He felt the bumping and grinding of the vessel against hulls as it fought, fought like a warrior, for a path to the shore—their boat rearing, over and over, and Turino breathing as deep as he could.

Clynine shrieked with the crash of the two boats. "Retaliate! Attack when they think you won't!" called Lanoré, a recapitulation of an old lesson. The Cleric learnt fast; she cried something like _Genesis,_ and there was a glow overhead, a godly hum—yells of torment—the thud of enemies falling to the ground.

_She's gotten so good, _thought Turino. He remembered a time before, a day before the ball. How she had smiled up at him with sparkling eyes, how she had swooned at his smile.

How much she had changed; how much she had grown.

He glanced about and saw—the feet of Ralinn and Raydan racing across the unsteady deck, sheltering behind steadfast Lanoré, Ketara snatching spears from the unconscious hunter's inventory, turning to fling each one at the boats.

How much everyone had changed. And how much he had changed too. How much this war against the king had changed them all, changed the faces of the countries, changed the voices of their inner hearts.

Or would the change have come, without this cruel king to incite it?

Change was the only constant. Change never changes. Turino would never know how things would have gone, had the world been in peace—had Caleix never risen. But change reigned, and the world marched on.

* * *

Akera was barely keeping balance; the boat was being thrown back and forth by the other vessels continuously ramming into its side. She heard dangerous cracks from everywhere, but none had managed to break a hole in the hull yet.

_You would damage one of your own ships just to get at us, _she mused for seconds as they barrelled a little way further through the gap—inch by inch, foot by foot—hulls grumbling ominously against each other. _That's just how little it matters to you anymore. You lose a machine; you replace it. You lose a man, you replace him._

Lanoré was doing a fine job with the steering, but steering was not enough to best a mobile barricade.

_And I thought those blasts of fire would be enough to stop them. _Akera glared into the wind, as another wave of red erupted glowing to life around her. If only the Archmage herself were here, battling with them…

Then she caught herself. Placing limits upon herself again._ No. I sure as hell don't need her here. She entrusted frontal defence to me, and I'm going to do it right._

Her eyes narrowed, assessing their situation, mind working rapidly—like a strategist's. _I don't just want to attack them. I want to throw them back. Push them off. Widen the pathway._

_These boats run on liquid fuel, don't they…?_

Her mind snapped. "Raydan! Anyone! Down to the stores! Get me some oil!"

She had no time to lose—the necromancers were about to fire a fourth blast. She panted and glanced about. Had no one heard her…?

"What, like cooking oil?" Raydan's disembodied voice appeared at her shoulder. She was about to reply—then caught sight of a fatal blur and shrieked, flinging him aside—moments before a spear came hurtling between them and thudding into the floorboard. Her vision nailed itself to the Sniper again.

"Gasoline, you idiot," she answered, snappy with anxiety. "Get me whatever you can find. Just go down there, down _there—"_ she gesticulated at the trapdoor "—and bring up any containers of liquid you find. Go! _Go!_" He did not dispute, slipping as fast as he could across the floor.

_Boom._ At last, the deck of the stolen patrol boat—which had escaped impregnation till now—was punctured—by a multitude of beams, no less, and Akera could only leap away in fright to duck under the cover of the hull. It was partially shattered, moments later. She rolled across the floor, sleeves singed.

The Fire Poison Mage spit out the taste of lightning, rising. Then it was rapid fire after that—behind the rail, she screamed, throwing balls and arrows of flame outwards that pummelled ship hulls everywhere and set them on fire, crying out with the effort of each. Clynine attacked from the opposite side of the deck, breaking her fair share of bows and hulls and helms apart. The rest had been lowered to shielding duty—dodging about the deck, racing from corner to corner, hoping to live for a few minutes more.

Akera's mind spun: this sort of fighting could not last. It would get them _killed_. And to worsen things, the ship was tilting dangerously, bow down—it was only a matter of time before the water broke into the cabins underneath—and then their cause would be absolutely, irrevocably lost. Wasted and sweating profusely, she turned—just in time for a bolt of lightning zip by behind her, just in time for a few more bolts crumble away a little more of their vessel.

She heard a yell from behind—in its sound, her eyes widened in thankfulness. Raydan had returned just in time, Ketara tagging along—both hefted metal tanks of what could only be gasoline. Waving them frantically over, the Mage leapt up to the bow, leading them with a sweep of her hand. "In the space there!" she commanded, almost as fiery as the enemy fleet's leader. "Where the boats part; there's a small space between them—quick!"

"As you wish, milady," called Ketara. Raydan saluted.

_Splash_—the tanks plunged into the water, bobbing innocuously on the tides. They were almost like children's toy blocks in appearance, now_._

The guards on neighbouring boats were just beginning to chatter worriedly amongst themselves. _Throwing tanks in the water. Suspicious._ _What could she be doing?_

_Gasoline?_

"Lanoré!" screamed Akera—the Archmage was with them at the bow within seconds. "Lanoré, guard us! Shirion, Ralinn, anyone—throw in the anchor!"

With that and no more, the Mage whirled around to face the onslaught, praying that everyone had done as commanded. No time to check now. Her staff was lit. Lanoré's too—she was tense, ominously, almost as if bracing herself for a massive impact. Suddenly, the necromancers were gasping, panicking; they seemed to know what she was about to do, and they seemed to understand.

Like birds fluttering frantically in a black cage. _No escape._

And with a scream of _Meteor Shower, _Akerainvoked the fourth job skill for the very first time.

For the milliseconds before, they watched, watched multiple bolts of fire shoot from her staff tip, punching holes in the tanks in the water with an ease that was almost beautiful. Everyone stared with wide eyes, allies and enemies all—sparks bloomed, and water rippled shining white.

Then the light came—and no one, save the two most powerful mages on board, was ready for it.

The boom vibrated, deep in everyone's throats and bones—accompanied by heat that felt almost hot enough to melt skin. It was all the _more_ monstrous, there at the heart, the epicentre—the fire bloomed like a dandelion clock, or like a ravenous monster with flaming jaws that swallowed all that came in its path. Like a supernova. It swept the vessels that had crushed the hull aside, until they were engulfed in the light—leapt upon the vessels beyond, setting every ship rearing like helpless horses—the sailors lost control. Akera heard her friends dropping to the ground in horror; she imagined they were burying their heads beneath useless arms, screaming or sobbing—there was too much noise in her ears to know.

The heat burnt against her too, but it only twisted her grin so it was fiercer.

_This is the fire you will learn to fear._

The blazing multicoloured brilliance cleared, gradually, to reveal the bow of their boat. Blackened beyond recognition, only Lanoré's Blizzard had saved it from annihilation. The boats in their circumference were in far worse state: if their hulls hadn't been smashed to pieces, then they had been capsized, or flung far off across the water: haphazard and motionless, crew members disoriented—or dead.

"Great job, Akera," gasped Ralinn, conceding at last that Akera had performed them an invaluable favour. She didn't have the time to care. Glancing at the blonde archer, Akera smiled briefly, then lost her mirth in the wake of the biting wind. _There is time for this later._

While the short exchange took place on deck, Lanoré returned immediately to the steering controls, calling for everyone to be on standby. With a thrust, she shuttled them on, like a meteor, onwards to the shore of Ellinia.

* * *

"Turn back! All sectors, turn back!"

Every last functional boat in the bay made a full turn backwards as the enemy boat plunged through the widening gap in the indomitable wall, under the panicky urges of the necromancer captain who knew she was losing her grip on the situation. She was screaming of something like condemnation and demotion, but none of the words actually formed in their ears.

The race was on. Their boat was cutting the water like a blade through skin; steering at their helm was a woman who had just learnt to sail, ten minutes ago. The shore hurtled into view, the towering trees that were grand and secretive in the summer, all laid bare in the winter cold.

"The instant we've stopped, I want you guys to get off, okay?" announced Lanoré, with as much steadiness as their harrowing situation could allow. Then she beached the boat as far up as they could, where it bumped its way up the shallows, and ground to a stop. Guild members glanced at each other, for hope and help.

"Get moving now!" screeched Akera. With nimbleness accorded by fear, Orion's Belt began leaping from the escape ladders into the shallow sea, taking off through the water with clumsy wading steps.

The patrol boats were barely a few hundred feet from the shore, still so numerous despite the explosion, and not deterred in the least. The sight of those hulking metal shadows in the evening dark only spurred them forth, forward, screaming and yelling, into the deep darkness of the Lesser Forest.

"Run! _Run!_" shouted Ralinn in the wake of the approaching engines—they crossed from sand onto barren earth, guild leader rounding up the back of the group with panicky shoves and sweeps of her arms.

Malevolent red flashes appeared among the trunks up ahead. The Mage at the head of the group cursed—yet more necromancers were waiting for them, spells on the tips of their staves…

"There's less than ten!" In these last minutes, encouragement was the only thing between success and failure. Instinct had led Ralinn to give this call, to snatch her bow from her belt and load it with an arrow. In her fingers, she could feel a battle waiting to begin.

Her cries were not futile. Orion's Belt drew close, close enough, their breaths irregular amongst themselves.

Everyone could hear the fear and the future in everyone else's silent voices—the safety that might never come, the death that approached like a cold blade. Rivalries melted for those moments, in the union of their shared terror, under the blazing shadow of a story too vast for them—surely it was not for them to write? Nevertheless. They were no longer the fragmented band they had been at the beginning of Spring of the Year of the Rabbit. They had once been separate individuals, with disparate agendas, with unique insecurities. But the past years and their trials together had turned those differences into reasons to feel the same. And with their shared fear had come a shared strength.

Everyone seemed to have felt the same jolt of instinct as Ralinn had, for suddenly weapons were gleaming in the hands of all ten, purple-blue in the light of an evening about to end.

"Into danger without hesitation, that's what we do best," proclaimed Raydan proudly. Ralinn rolled her eyes and shoved his head forward playfully. Zethis glanced up briefly for a breath of the cold air: the trees were bare and the stars shone through from the indigo sky, a sky that was changing so fast.

_Changing so fast._

The world was shifting around them, like the wind whistling in the twigs. Here in this wintry twilight when the snow had not yet begun, the magnitude of the change suddenly became clear.

_And Time moves forward, and the ones who stagnate are left behind._

From beyond the tall pillars of the forest, the rustle of activity awakened—they ran, reckless, into the blinding terror of the dark. "_Staves!_" muttered one of the necromancers suddenly. The same red lights lit up around them, like eyes deep in the forest.

Ketara, who had wandered on beyond the rest, leapt in fright. His visage tensed, his fingers wrapping themselves tighter around his spear…

"_Aim!_"

He whirled to face the voice. "_Dragon Roar!" _gasped the Dragon Knight by reflex, leaping blindly into the forest and landing among the dead leaves, spear shining purple in his trembling hands—

All of a sudden, Telida had sprung to his side, throwing him down to the ground with her, as the bolts fired past and flew clean of both—but his spear spun out of his grip, still burning violet, and the attack exploded from it. It sent out a thundering boom that shook the barren trees with purple fire and sent the dark magicians sprawling.

Ketara stood up, gasping with shock; with a leap, the Hermit was on her feet beside him, rapidly fingering stars from her hidden pockets, almost too many for her to hold in both hands. But she was deft, and her hands swept them up one after another, charging them brilliant gold—she cried "_Avenger!"_, flicking every last one between the trees in a barrage, so they blazed fierce curving trails of gold. Her aim was true, as always, and thuds from beyond signalled the falls of the other necromancers.

Dead, just like that._ She was an Assassin once, after all._

"Come!" Telida called backwards, as if her murders had been nothing at all—dashing through the dark though her eyes never left her warrior companion. "And _you!"_ She glared at Ketara, eyes darkening. "What the hell was that for, stupid—jumping _into _the line of attack?"

"It's quite cute how much you care about him." Shirion's voice appeared as the rest caught up and they wound through the tangle of roots and trunks, deeper into the vast forest that cradled a million secret spaces.

Ketara turned in question to Telida, who seemed, from the look on her face, to be grappling with the idea of slapping Shirion.

"Shut up and hurry," growled Akera. Already the sounds of searching necromancers had grown into a background murmur, confident footsteps following the trail of their voices.

And then they were confronted with a stark reality—they were, for all their past deeds, just a band of fugitives, running from the law.

"It's grown so dark," whispered Clynine, her voice soft and fragile like a petal. She retained within her a little of that childish fear of the dark.

They slipped between trees, and Lanoré, mighty and brilliant as she was, took hold of the sixteen-year-old's hand just like a mother would her child's. "Yes, it's dark," answered the woman. "But who is to say it's such a bad thing? In the dark it's easy to tell secrets. To tell the truth. Clynine, can you see my face?"

"Yes, mistress, a little."

Lanoré smiled briefly, a smile that warmed the Cleric to the tips of her fingers. She acknowledged with one of her own. "Light gives us sight," said the Archmage softly, eyeing the girl meaningfully. "And dark as it might grow, there's always a little, from the moon or the stars, to see by. It's enough for you to see my smile—isn't that right?"

Clynine nodded, unsure if she understood.

* * *

A clearing spread itself before them, where echoes grew soft and the bare branches arced like the shadow of a corridor. This place was a sanctuary. The peace here was sacred, wild, _alive_. Shadows danced in circles around them; Clynine pulled closer to her mistress.

They had barely minutes more. Minutes to escape.

"Ketara," murmured Lanoré, reaching out to touch the Dragon Knight's shoulder. He nodded, and stepped carefully out of the group, so he stood vulnerable in the middle of the clearing, amongst uneven patches of moonlight, the forest whooshing, rustling all around him, the black leaves spiralling.

"We need you," called out the warrior, tentatively, voice struggling to fit itself into the rising song around him. "Help us again! Althlixa! Krhil! Do you remember me, from two years ago? I'm here, here to return your gift!" He glanced down at his belt pouch, digging for a treasure that had lain hidden since the day it had been received. The Dragon Knight held up a glittering object to the branches, eyes wide with apprehension. "Do you remember? We were friends once. Are we still?"

Then, where there had been a darkness more unforgiving than black, there was a flicker—and golden eyes were suddenly blinking all around, like great bulbs through the shadows. Now as they looked around, they saw the dragons—black dragons, adorning every branch of the clearing.

Ketara gasped, stepping back.

_"Yes, I remember! How could I forget? We met three years ago, child of the Ancient One. We thought _you_ forgot—you see, humans' memories are almost as short as their lives…"_

"And how could _I_? You flew halfway across the island for us!" He paused then, self-consciously. "Would you do it…again?"

He could hear his guild shifting into the clearing after him. He alone heard their voices, the words they spoke—to the rest, it sounded like the shrieking of the entire forest as one. Akera gazed on in fascination, hair fluttering out behind her like a white veil. Ralinn stood transfixed in the darkness. Lanoré smiled, and Clynine gazed up at the stars.

_"Help?"_ murmured one through the branches. _"What sort of help?"_

"Do you know a white building, and a guild called Nightfall? There are people there who could keep us…led a man named Pelinor—oh, and another, named Hyrien—"

_"Speak no more!" _cried a new, unfamiliar dragon suddenly. _"Nightfall! The ones who walk by the spring—he speaks of the Warming Stone, and the people who live inside it! Hyrien! Yes, the man in the armour!"_

Ketara's face brightened. "Great!" he exclaimed, but there was no pause. He raised a simple piece of paper before the dragons' eyes—a note, a note of request. "Now, we need a huge favour from you. We need to get to the headquarters of Nightfall as soon as we can, or we'll be killed by the mages with red and black lightning. We need to be taken there. But we can't come without warning, or they won't let us in. Will you send your quickest dragon ahead of you with this note?"

Akera glanced briefly backwards. A red flare burst not far away, and the shouting of necromancers swelled, disrupting the rhythmic singing of the breezes. "Quick," she urged Ketara, tapping him on the shoulder.

_"Yes, always, Child of the Ancient One,"_ sang Althlixa from above, the first dragon friend he had ever made. _"Child who travelled the world to the forest of the Ancient One, child who freed Horned Tail. We will do this favour for you."_

Even as they spoke, dragons were coming to land in the clearing and encircle him, lowering themselves to the ground like subordinates before a master. One of the younger dragons snatched the sheet of paper between his lips, a smart glint in his eye.

"Guys!" exclaimed Ketara. "They agreed! They'll take us to Nightfall!"

Then the sounds of the necromancers began, slowly, to close in from everywhere. Red torches streaked through the dark, searching for their quarry. Mounting would have been slower in any other circumstance—but the danger was oppressive, polarising, compelling—and the ten rebels scrambled rapidly up onto the creatures, hearts pounding everywhere in their ears.

There was a black flutter at the corner of his eye: the young dragon had taken off, safe and south, the note tight in its scaly jaws.

A red flame suddenly bloomed violently at the corners of their eyes. "There they are!" rumbled a voice, the whisper of cloaks following—Clynine shrieked. Akera yelled for speed. But even then, the air was ominously full—

—the banks broke, and suddenly the necromancers came flooding in in throngs, everywhere, cloaked figures crossing the forest floor with staves that hummed, ready to fire—

"Leave!" cried Lanoré, breaths growing fast and shallow. "Fly!"

_"Fly!"_ echoed Ketara with a desperation born of fear.

Lightning struck. The wings beat the earth like thunder before rain. Powerful legs thrust those black bodies into the air. The wind was like a hurricane. The first beams fired, distorted by the dragons' wind to strike the dead leaves—a second too slow. They were twisting through the branches already, agile as their fluid forms suggested.

Then they met the sky, the bare blue sky and its open stars. By the map of the flaring constellations that would be the same in a millennium's time, they followed the preordained path—the row of three stars that pointed their way to Henesys.

* * *

_hyrien: the night is falling_

The Guild Master of Nightfall raised his head as three urgent knocks resounded on their double doors. This round of poker had been going well, and Hyrien had extorted quite a number of crackers from his four opponents already—it would have been no mean feat in any other case to turn him from this profitable game.

But when the knocking came, sharp, unheralded by any prior announcement, Hyrien straightened with attention.

Unexpected visitors. Not just a letter in the bootleg or by canary. _Personal visitors._

Either the king had finally located their hideout, ten miles off the walled border of Henesys—or someone needed them. Desperately.

Voices of the guild fell into cautious whispers. "Anyone has any idea who that might be?" inquired the White Knight, glancing at the three gigantic brass locks securing three arm-length crossbars. No one answered.

Yunira and her girl friends had been having dinner over a stack of interesting magazines—at present, she ascended from her seat, lowering her to the tabletop.

"I'll get the door!" she exclaimed, shooting off across the worn marble floor before anyone could stop her, detouring to the cabinet with the keys then taking herself back to the door with bounding strides. She pressed an ear against the wood at the gap, eyes widening slowly.

"There's more than five of them," she announced. She straightened, and her fingers quickly pushed the key into the first lock, twisting it till it clicked open.

Then, all three locks were off. The Spearwoman fell quiet with caution now, eyes wide, her hands slowly gripping the handles. "Alright?" she whispered. And she pulled the great, creaking door open.

Instantly, the winter wind swept in—the radiators in the walls responded, humming louder. Everyone dropped their current preoccupations—no one spoke, except for the talkative few.

Black clad, all. There was an air of distant travel about the visitors at their doorstep—their dishevelled hair, the sweat gleaming on their brows despite the winter cold, the way they supported each other by the shoulders.

There were a few daring whispers now. Black, all black—they dressed like necromancers, cloaks a little shorter, eyes a little hungrier, more yearning for warmth.

But who was to know if they were in league with the king or not?

That question was dispelled but a moment later.

The man in front stepped forward. "Good evening, Nightfall," he greeted the guild formally, steely eyes surveying the crowd.

His voice suddenly brought torrents of recollection, as memories were relit. _Ethiel, _they whispered to each other. _Ethiel, the Dark Lord's people._

One of them had come to visit years ago, calling on them for help in the destroyed city of Kerning. No one had forgotten that name ever since.

_Ethiel. Rebels, just like us._

The man seemed to see their mounting eagerness. So there wasn't any hesitance in his voice, now, as he briefly explained the cause of their visit:

"We need your help."

* * *

"Good evening, good sirs and madams…alright, please sit down…sit down, and introduce yourselves."

"Can we save ourselves the formalities?" asked their spokesperson. Long pale-locked with weariness in his steel-grey eyes, he stood almost as tall as the White Knight himself. "The minutes are valuable. My name is Lawrence Ethiel, and that is all you need to know." Both sat, while the rest gathered in a tight circle around the table.

"Alright, alright. I am Hyrien, and I am pleased to meet you," answered the Guild Master. "I don't quite understand; could you explain the cause of your visit in further detail?"

"We are sorry for the short notice," the thief began, "but I suppose you already know about the capture of the four job masters. You see, we did have the intention of rescuing Dark Lord ourselves, but it doesn't take a genius to know we'd never succeed."

He understood immediately. "And…I suppose you are here to ask if we can assist you," murmured Hyrien thoughtfully. "If we can…help you free him. Or all four of them. Well—that idea actually began amongst us the instant we heard the news."

"Why has it not proceeded?" inquired the senior thief a little more demandingly, leaning in out of interest, or maybe out of fear—fear that their one and only avenue of hope was about to close its gates. The other ten drew in closer, sharing in the tension. "Is it not within your means? Or your skill?"

Suddenly calculating uneasily—afraid to fail their volatile hopes, yet afraid to promise something he could never give—the White Knight shot glances across the room. No, he had no reservations about the power of his guild. There wasn't any doubt that they were capable of performing any task accorded them, as long as they were told how. But that was precisely the problem—there was no one to instruct them. Hyrien was simply afraid of failing again—what if they miscalculated the king's intelligence, like before? What if it was _impossible_?

And this was the _prison_ they were talking about. He had limited information on its interior, and it was likely to be just as secure as the castle, if not more so.

The Guild Master of Nightfall, afraid to make a move. It would shame Pelinor so. Hyrien buried his face in his hands and exhaled, a guilty pang coming, like knives in his chest.

"I—I hate to disappoint you…but even _we_ would be hard-pressed to form a strategy that could best the prison's defence. Even _we_'d require help—skilled help—if we were to execute a plan so frightfully difficult. I cannot imagine who could. I'm…direly sorry for—"

A sound stripped through the hall, from outside—a ghostly, alien shriek, one so strange that it cut all conversation short.

Hyrien's last words left his lips in a sharp dwindle.

The sound was haunting—three-toned, shrieking, notes shaped like foreign syllables. _Dragon,_ was Hyrien's immediate and only thought. He stood abruptly, eyes irremovable from the door. _Why? We have not disturbed them—what is happening?_

Another cry came, echoing across the sky outside, drawing closer, closer, closer. The beat of wings was clear, like a steady drumbeat, a steady heartbeat, leading the creature surely towards the abode of Nightfall…

"Kiherhlahoxp?" gasped Yunira, everyone else in the room suddenly quiet again. "Is that you, Kiherhlahoxp?—"

With a stately beat that was as frightening as it was thunderous, a dark flash crossed the open door, landing so everyone could see it for what it was. It spread its leathery wings across the doorstep, giving a muffled cry, for it refused to open its mouth.

"Kiherhlahoxp—"

Then, both Hyrien and Yunira realised simultaneously that there was a slip of paper clipped between its teeth, too precious to be released…

_A note._

Yunira raced to the doorway, heart pounding. "You're here! And at the strangest of times, too," she whispered, petting Kiherhlahoxp's snout and pulling the note gently from the crack of its mouth. It nudged her arm, and taking the cue, she rapidly unfolded the message.

_"Read it," _the young dragon hissed back. _"Quickly. From friends. Friends who need help."_

She understood, and began with the task, curiosity mounting. Noting then that the message was addressed to her guild and not to an individual, the girl raised her voice and began to read the words out loud for the rest—like a herald announcing his message—and the rest of Nightfall looked up to listen.

_"Greetings, leaders and members of Nightfall._

_"We have not met before, but I know we have felst each other's presence for many years. We always knew it would come to this, now in the last hour as winter claims the world, and Caleix begins to fear us for real._

_"We make this request of you: we come, scarred in battle, exhausted, in search of refuge—and we hope you will welcome us. There is no time for bargains; we both know the consequences if we are found. Every minute here makes that fate more likely._

_"We thank you in advance, and may the Goddess and the Dragon smile upon you and your guild."_

She paused before the sign-off. Her eyes were very wide, like pools of water, and her mouth seemed to want to practise shaping the syllables silently before she finally announced them.

But she did, at last—and no one dared to speak after that. With those words, strange plans and high-flying fantasies immediately began to bloom in many minds.

_"Orion's Belt," _read the Spearwoman, with a tone of finality—and she raised her gaze from the sheet. "Orion's Belt is coming to seek refuge with us."

* * *

They shot between the trees, the wild wind in their ears, the stars and branches turning into streaks around them. Raydan was yelling to the wind in exhilaration. The dragons were crying in jubilation, and Ketara made sure to thank them profusely.

The hours were stripped off one by one, and their arrival came too soon, much to the dismay of the ones who were enjoying the ride. The small white patch appeared in the distance, and the dragons began to chatter madly amongst themselves, shooting forth with renewed energy.

Then suddenly, the white patch had grown into a complete building, and it was just like the Sniper remembered it—enclosed in a tangle of roots and branches that held it erect, the doorway facing the wild night as before, a well-trodden path winding out from before it—except that Nightfall had renovated, and its new double doors stood proud, wide open.

"Awesome!" exclaimed the hyperactive Sniper. "Oh, I can't wait to get something to eat…my stomach's been complaining all day!"

A fed-up Akera called him to be quiet, but conversation started up immediately around them.

"Yeah, I need a shower." "How do a hundred people fit _inside_ that thing?" "I hope they have games!"

And so, like this, the journey was at end. Safety was close at last, the impregnable safety they missed so dearly. The white stone building—their refuge until their task was completed—came to fill their vision, and the dragons descended from the bald branches, one by one, circling around the open doorway.

* * *

In the midst of their flustered preparation—the splash and chink of utensils as they were washed, the thump of tables being shifted across the hall floor —the first signs of their visitors' arrival began to come.

The thunder of the arriving chorus of wingbeats began as a low, distant rumble. But slowly and surely, it rose and swelled to drown everything else out, even close conversation, sending everyone into stillness—and the power of those beats shook the walls.

A battalion of dragons came to surround the opening—all fierce and primed for battle, it appeared, the way their eyes gleamed, hissing and twitching as if waiting for the appearance of a hidden enemy. There were mutters of shock, of fright, of mistrust.

"I see they've upgraded their dingy entrance-hole into a _real _door!" a voice exclaimed from outside. "About time they did so!"

From behind dragon wings, they finally emerged, and revealed themselves.

Breaths were held.

They looked almost exactly as everyone had pictured—ruffled, scarred, stained by the blood of battles past—but still so beautiful. _Beautiful, with the ornament of legend and lore. _These faces and personages—only fiction to them, familiar from the Wanted posters and the magazines, familiar from the tabloids that reported preposterous stories about them that _could not be real_.

Yunira stood, unsure of what to do. Her facial expression transformed rapidly—from incredulity, to horror, to euphoria—and the storm of feelings, of pasts reawakening, of stories that could finally be continued, seemed suddenly too much for her to contain within her.

_"Raydan!" _squealed the Spearwoman, breaking her momentary catatonia. Letting all propriety go, she flew at the befuddled archer with outstretched arms, leapt upon him with an insurmountable hug. He hadn't expected it, yelling out, but the elated recognition quickly rose to his eyes. "Your sister's guild! _Orion's Belt!_ You never _told_ me! Oh—but you did say that name once, didn't you? That was the name! You said it! Oh my gosh—it was _Orion's Belt_ all along!"

Yunira was gushing fluently now—she had never been one to contain her thoughts to her inner mind. Her rapid, bubbly speech had an immediate effect on the people around her. Chatter ascended from the masses. Some came forth to observe the visitors like utterly fascinating museum artefacts. Others cleared the tables, begging the celebrities from afar to come and sit with them.

Hyrien's heart was pounding as he began to pick out faces from the crowd—not knowing why it was so wondrously bewildering, so satisfying, to finally draw the links he hadn't made before.

He recognised Zethis, the boy from the Henesys Hunting Grounds, all those seven years ago. Zethis, whom Hyrien could never forget for being the first and only child he had ever had the honour to help. So tall now, so changed in stature by the world he had seen.

And Raydan, the visitor from four years back, the one who had nearly died hanging from a branch in the Henesys Square. He remembered that day: the sand of the roads, the itchy branches encircling him, the leaping ambush from the treetops. As his eyes met those amber-orange ones, the years condensed into hours.

_Oh, it feels like yesterday! _He had the same eyes as his sister, the infamous guild leader—how could he never have noticed? Both in Orion's Belt!

He wasn't the only one reeling with the excitement. The speeches of admiration that had been waiting to be made finally poured from the dreamers' lips. Hyrien could hear the voices around and behind him: discussing how passionately they adored Ralinn for being so brave, so steadfast, so fierce—how positively ingenious Lanoré's defeat of Xelion had been, how grand the entire story they were spinning for themselves had become. Orion's Belt, heroes of the world beneath the king's shadow!

The eleven thieves who had come earlier had not forgotten their agenda, though the air about them no longer seemed so darkly tense, a little of their charm shining through. They accepted the drinks offered, and began to take interest in the cards on the table.

"I suppose your problem is solved, then," murmured the thief named Jonathan, across the table. "This is the 'help' you hoped for, isn't it?"

Hyrien understood then, and nodded. It was true. Orion's Belt, victors at Minar Forest and in the Dead Mines—they were the single best possible group that could have appeared at this time.

"This is a miracle!" cried Yunira, almost sobbing for joy as she dragged a still-speechless Raydan by the hand into the hall, the rest stepping through the doorway with a dignity that made the people of Nightfall bow. "Guys, remember Raydan?" she exclaimed when they had all come into the cosy main hall of Nightfall, suddenly so much smaller in their presence. "This is the guild that his sister started, six years ago. Orion's Belt!"

* * *

Yunira was over the moon. Never before had anything left her so ecstatic it turned all else into a blur. In these recent times of turmoil, she had found herself thinking about that distant friend, Raydan, more often than before. And suddenly, here he was, in the very same hall, four years down the path of Time!

Hyrien strode over to the door. "Greetings, Orion's Belt," he announced. "It is truly our highest honour to have you visit. It's wonderful that you have arrived at this hour."

"Oh no, it is _our_ pleasure," answered Ralinn automatically from outside, straight and tall with her hair matted into clumps of deep brown—was that blood? _Oh, Ralinn, the brave huntress from all the tales_. "We'd be dead now—or deeply inconvenienced—if Raydan hadn't told us of Nightfall."

Hyrien quickly busied himself with commanding guild members about. He called for a dining table and a full dinner to be prepared. "Set twelve chairs at the table; I'll join them once I'm done, as will Yunira," he announced to the workers, who quickly scurried to their duties. Starry-eyed with surprise, Yunira accepted her inclusion, far too eagerly.

The entrance hall had sprung into activity. The main dining table was cleared, their best tablecloth laid over it. "Come right this way," called Yunira, the pounding of her heart dizzying as she led Orion's Belt towards the grand main table, high on the granite dais at the front of the room.

In no time at all, a throng of fanatics had gathered behind her, boisterously chattering and even attempting to reach out to touch the guests. "Shoo!" she snapped. "Get on with your _own_ dinners!" She swatted them away, shoving a few off to get her point across. _This is _my _opportunity! You're not stealing it! _There was a little scuffle for seats around the table, and a considerable amount of seat-switching—but they settled fast enough. Yunira drifted about the table, grinning with pride.

For the first time that night, Raydan turned to eye the Spearwoman, and a smile coming to him almost naturally. "Yunira! You've become so—pretty," he murmured, with surprising smoothness. "How long has it been since we last met?"

Yunira, taken aback as she was, tried not to express her disbelief. "Whoa, Raydan—what got into you while you were gone?" she inquired, amused nevertheless.

"I discovered that I have a natural way with girls," answered Raydan. "You can probably sense my attractive aura by now."

"Oh, _please_!" she exclaimed very amusedly, having overcome her surprise. "All I sense is a guy without a good pickup line."

With a slight pout of disappointment, the Crossbowman set himself down in the chair beside Ralinn. "You'll change your mind soon enough, Miss Yunira," he expressed determinedly. With a giggle and a shrug, Yunira turned to see who else there was.

Akera sat to Raydan's right. She paused—everything the warrior had heard about that young woman told her that she should be frightened of her. She _was_ the new Number One on the king's Most Wanted list, after all. Whether she knew it or not was another matter. Akera carried herself exactly like the aloof, cold-hearted murderess that the stories described her to be—sitting apart from the rest, eyes the same colour as ice reflecting the sky, her famed silver hair marking her out even in the midst of this outstanding group. She sat like a queen, right leg crossed over left, hands folded on her lap—impatient for her dinner.

"Good evening A—"

Yunira was stopped short by the Mage's blue gaze as it turned to the new voice. It crossed the redhead for a few seconds, like a metal rake passing through leaves; she shivered once as if the winter were coming upon her, and said no more.

"Hello," murmured Akera. By then, Yunira had paid her respects and moved off.

Lanoré was a rather stark contrast from the white-haired lady. Her very presence—her very _smile_—excited her suddenly to hysteria, dispelling all worries about Akera from before. _Oh my gosh, Lanoré! Here! Right beside me! My goodness, I'm—I'm going to talk to Lanoré! _Quickly she composed herself, before approaching the woman.

The Archmage seemed to have a way of appearing satisfied, because feel it or not, there was none of the irritation that Akera had displayed. Where Akera was pale and almost sickly in physique, the Archmage was golden-haired, warm-voiced and quite beautiful. She had a calm smile despite the exhaustion that her posture exuded, and was in conversation with a petite, rather adorable girl beside her.

The Spearwoman presently approached the two. She wasn't one to grow nervous, excited as she was. "Good evening, ma'ams!" she announced brightly, stopping behind them with her hands on the backs of their chairs.

Both glanced back from the empty table in unison, eyes immediately alight with surprise. "And what might your name be?" asked Lanoré with a blink of her ocean-blue eyes, reaching a hand out to shake hers. Yunira gasped within herself, and took it, gingerly, almost afraid to feel the touch of someone so great—almost afraid, even, of being turned to ice by her hand.

Her grip was firm, and surprisingly warm. "Yunira here, pleased to meet you, welcome to the Nightfall HQ!" she answered chirpily. Inside her, she felt as if she would overheat and explode.

Beside the woman, Clynine leant out to observe the newcomer. "Good evening, Miss Yunira," she murmured in a small, almost tender voice.

"You all look exhausted!" cried the Spearwoman in response, taking a quick glance about. "Where in the _world_ have you been?"

Lanoré beamed back. "Everywhere," she answered earnestly, with a gaze cast far beyond the ceiling of the Nightfall HQ.

Yunira tapped her chin. "Ah, you lucky people! I've never been further than Ellinia, and never anywhere in the west!" she answered, twirling once behind their chairs. Clynine giggled, rather entertained. The Spearwoman spun to a stop and spared another glance at the Cleric.

"Aww…you're so cute!" She reached and indulgently poked the girl's cheek; she blushed and glanced away. Yunira's eyes followed hers—and only then did she notice that a blonde male youth was watching the two girls with wide eyes. "Ah? Who's that?"

The blonde youth's gaze immediately snapped away. He seemed so terrified at having been found out, and too shy to concede another glimpse of his face. Yunira stared at the straw-blonde of his hair, nevertheless, finding it rather nice a colour. Like the morning light that glowed through the cracks of the HQ walls when she woke up early to have hot pancakes for breakfast, and Kaida the greatest cook in the world wouldn't wait for latecomers. She liked watching the cracks when dawn shone through. His locks were that colour.

"That's Zethis," explained Clynine simply, and Yunira assumed he was one of the less famous guild members. She took on a sweet smile. "He's …not a very outspoken person."

"I can tell," she answered, beaming. "And he's kinda cute."

Lanoré smiled neatly. "You _might_ not want to call him 'cute' in front of my assistant," whispered the Archmage, leaning in close. "He belongs to Clynine."

Yunira made a valiant attempt not to laugh. "Ah, right, who's that?" She finally decided to turn her attention to someone else, asking her question over Lanoré's shoulder while she pointed at a dark-haired male who had eyes only for the wall.

"Turino?" Lanoré pronounced the young man's rather rustic-sounding name. "Oh, try and spot his sister. It's a pity that they don't ever sit side by side."

The Spearwoman's eyes had already sought out that black-haired sister of his. _So these are the twins the rumours always talk about? _Indeed, she had heard of them before. Orion's Belt had been an occasional conversation topic amongst the Nightfall members.

_"Who else is in the guild?" _she had asked once, a while ago.

_"Besides the Silver Fang, Akera and their leader? I think Ralinn has a brother. And I hear there's a pair of twins …"_

The twins, they were always the ones mentioned in passing, with only one opinion expressed of them: _They are creepy. _There were theories going around, that this pair of twins was the very same one that had once inhabited the Dungeon, murdering lost travelers for life.

Yunira shuddered, because it wasn't hard to imagine it now, gazing upon those pale faces. They were dressed ordinarily, but glowed red with blood—and was there a tinge of blood on their lips?

_They don't like each other; _that was the other thing she had heard about the two. _They'd kill each other if society did not disallow it._

_Why? I wish _I_ had a brother!_

But Yunira gave that thought no more attention, for her eyes had somehow wandered absently to the person separating the two, a young man who seemed busy with observing the others as well. His eyes were warm brown, his long hair dark and unruly. He was _so hot_…

The instant he noticed her gaze, the young man blinked and glanced up at her, in question. She stepped back. "Ah, Lanoré—who's that, eh, rather cute guy between them?"

"Ketara," said the Archmage without even having to look. "Really, I wonder why everyone seems to share that opinion of him," and now she lowered her voice, "I personally find Zethis cuter…"

"Maybe," sighed the silly girl, absently. In her peripheral vision, she had noted the presence of the last person—a man just as bedraggled as everyone at the table, with long brown hair falling messily over his shoulders. "That last guy is Shirion, I suppose?"

"Absolutely right." Lanoré watched him, but neither the Crusader nor the Ranger noticed, for the two were too deep in conversation to see anything but each other. "No one _else_ can put that look on his face …"

Yunira wasn't paying attention, though. Waving tentatively at Ketara, the girl tried to smile—and to her absolutely delighted surprise, he smiled back, welcomingly, lifting his hand from the tabletop to return the gesture. Yunira felt heat creep into her cheeks, suddenly—_no, don't blush!_—before she could calm herself down.

_Oh, gosh…he noticed me! Shall I go talk to him? Shall I? Should I?_

Never mind what her mind told her—she _would _be going. With nervous bounds, the girl circled the table, brisker and more eager than even her usual self. _But_ w_hat do I say? What if he gets annoyed? What about that girl beside him…?_

Arriving behind them, she felt her knees wobble. "H—hello!" she gasped, cautiously leaning out over the back of Ketara's chair. _Be natural! Be natural; act like you've always known him! _"I couldn't help but notice you! …What might your name be?"

The youth angled his head slightly, tilting backwards so that he could see Yunira in full. Beside him, black-haired Telida growled softly, but said nothing in objection.

"I'm Ketara; nice to meet you," came his answer then, accompanied by a curious smile. Yunira tried her very best not to stare. "I've heard that your name is Yunira—is that right?"

"Uh, yes! That's my name!" she squealed with restraint, wishing he wouldn't look up at her _that way_! "And nice to meet you—"

"Oho, getting close to Orion's Belt already, aren't you!" Hyrien's voice exclaimed suddenly from behind her, to her shock—he had somehow materialized behind her, soundlessly. Both Ketara and Telida turned from her to him.

"I—yes, just part of making them feel welcome," replied the Spearwoman promptly, standing straight and smiling as widely as she could, trying her best to cover her true agenda in approaching Ketara.

The Guild Master seemed pleased to hear that, and departed. And she was about leap back into her conversation with the charming young man—but the Guild Master's voice called across the table at that point, insisting that she take her place right this instant, so that dinner could begin. She looked up. The White Knight gestured at the empty seat between Ralinn and Raydan.

The Spearwoman groaned—_so close!_ "Talk to you later," she called out to Ketara, who answered with a nod, while she trudged back to her seat, pouting.

Hyrien turned to Yunira, tilting his head to a side. "You seem quite taken in by that guy," murmured the man as she pulled the chair. "Well, of course I understand—no need to be embarrassed…but don't freak him out!" Much to her horror, Yunira found herself blushing again—and she did her best to hide it, by turning to inspect Raydan's food.

The Crossbowman seemed to interpret this as an offer for conversation, and goodness, did he take it voraciously fast. "So, what's been going on?" inquired the blonde youth.

"Huh?"

"I mean, what's happened since I left?"

With a slow turn of the head, Yunira raised her gaze to inspect her old friend. He looked like exactly the same guy—except, perhaps, his hair was longer and a bigger mess, and he had taken to wearing a headband. _Whatever for? Some weird fashion statement?_

"It's been four years, Raydan—and that's quite…enough time for many things to have happened, don't you think?" answered Yunira, finally. The dishes were being laid down. The girl fidgeted in her seat.

Somehow or other, Raydan's interest seemed to have been roused by this response. "Well, tell me! Tell me what's been going on with your life!" he pressed on eagerly. "Hm, let's start with…your love life!"

"It doesn't exist!" It alarmed her that he was raising this topic at this point—so soon after a particular guy had caught her interest—_wait, what? Am I seriously already crushing on someone I've only known for a few minutes? _Then to alleviate the unease of the sort-of-lie, she said, "I have been interested in one or two though…"

The blonde archer smiled widely. "Oh, that's cute," he sighed —and that was when she began to find his behavior strange.

"Right, thank you," murmured the girl, averting his gaze purposefully and dishing herself some of the vegetables. _My gosh…he's become so…weird!_

Thankfully, Ralinn intervened before things could get any more awkward. "Stop creeping her out," commented the leader of Orion's Belt from her left. Raydan finally seemed to realize the full effect what he had just said—and quickly shut up, allowing a silence to commence between them at the worst possible time.

Hyrien noticed the discomfort. From his place to Raydan's immediate right, he asked merrily: "So, Orion's Belt, the greatest rebels in the world—how does it feel to have returned to Victoria Island at last?"

Yunira observed as the conversation caught on. Ralinn was quickest to answer, being the leader and feeling the need to be the one taking the questions, it seemed. "It has been quite an experience," she summarized. "I don't think I can say I'm the same person after everything that's happened."

"It's been awesome!" Raydan put in enthusiastically, raising a fork.

"No, it's been terrible," countered Akera, succinctly as usual.

"But all those places! The creatures we met, the monsters we battled! Wasn't it just mindblowingly awesome?"

And suddenly, the tale was being unfolded around the table, by the ones who had written it—starting from their most recent adventure, of crossing the sea on the back of a whale. Yunira's eyes went wide, as she heard the stories of their every last escapade—as they went backwards, chronologically—or perhaps not chronologically, through everything that had happened since the completion of the guild. So many eager stories were concurrently being put forward by everyone, so many versions of the same event, so many parallel plots.

By the Goddess, she felt as if she were listening to a complete epic from between the covers of a novel! Even the events and the twists seemed to have been calculated on by the deities; the passionate segments brought tears to her eyes; the evil that they sometimes spoke of made her shiver, as if dark claws were being raked down her spine.

And most of all—she found her admiration for Orion's Belt grow, and grow, with every word that was shared.

* * *

"And there's this other group that came just before you," added Hyrien, gaze shifting to the band of thieves who occupied the two tables nearby. They hadn't been forgotten, though by the looks of it, they would probably have liked to be.

_All these people, traveling far and wide just to find shelter with us, to find help with us. This is a sure sign that the balance is shifting._

As his visitors plowed through high-piled desserts, the Guild Master's subordinate arrived to inform him that the rooms were ready. Hyrien thanked him; he would much have liked to inform Orion's Belt, but they were busy enjoying Kaida's cakes and puddings. Instead, he sent Ethiel off first, making a short trip to their tables to inform Lawrence that the rooms were ready. Their acting spokesperson nodded curtly, standing to leave—the rest followed, no verbal exchange necessary. Their black cloaks rustled as they slipped into the darkness.

Due in great part to the sizes of their desserts, the guild took about twenty minutes more to finish everything. "Ralinn," called Hyrien then, as the rest of Orion's Belt began to grow rowdy, having nothing to busy their mouths with. "Rooms are ready. Yunira will show you to them."

He watched as the woman rose from her seat and rounded up her underlings, silencing them with a few shouts for quiet—Raydan was the last to shut up— before instructing Yunira to lead the way. Distractedly though, the girl cast a glance about the small crowd as they gathered, as if searching for someone—Ralinn's gentle tap on her shoulder rapidly brought her back on task. She was too terrified of the woman—the greatest, most-wanted leader on the island at present—to dilly-dally.

"Follow me!" exclaimed the girl, taking off towards the stairs that she knew so well. Hyrien watched her go with some measure of fondness—the Spearwoman, eight years younger than himself, had always been such an eager soul, bad past or not. She had had a sister named Shamira, and a pair of loving parents—how much happier would she be, if they were still around?

Walking near the end of the line, Akera, the Silver Fang and her assistant were in conversation—he watched them pass, but he suddenly recalled Ethiel's request, and realized that now would be the best time to ask about it.

_But how will they respond? Surely I am too lowly to request such a favour of them…_

Placing faith his rank and his—hopefully existent—reputation to save him from any humiliation, the White Knight stopped them anyway.

"Good evening," he said cordially, business-like. Clynine paused in mid-sentence and glanced up at him, and the other two followed suit. Their walk stopped almost instantly, and Hyrien suddenly felt sorry for holding them back from their well-needed rest. "How has your stay been so far?"

"Oh, good evening, Sir," answered Lanoré politely, with a smile that was almost unnervingly steady. "Thank you for your accommodation, in advance. And thank you for that delightful dinner. It is our honour to be here." Clynine murmured a wholehearted agreement. Akera nodded ever so slightly, though her eyes lingered still on what was probably the opening to the staircase.

He bowed his head deeply. "The honour is, and always will be, mine," came his response, as naturally as breathing. "Although I hate to break your restful mood—I have a small request of you. If you would listen, that is."

At this point, the white-haired lady in bloodstained blue seemed ready to dismiss the man and leave. _Akera, always the impulsive, self-serving one, _Hyrien had heard from many a friend. But he wouldn't judge yet. The Mage seemed about to stride away—but with a glare, she must have decided it would be rude to leave, and Lanoré's grip on her shoulder made it all the harder to do so.

"Yes, don't mind Akera—would you tell us what this is about?" inquired Lanoré as their walk slowly resumed, Hyrien following at a cautious distance.

"You noticed that band of thieves just now, at the table adjacent to yours? They are Ethiel."

"The Dark Lord's thieves," answered Akera.

"Yes, the Dark Lord's closest friends," affirmed the Guild Master of Nightfall, calling to mind the image of their black cloaks vanishing down the staircase. "You might know, also, that the Job Masters of Victoria Island have been captured by the king."

"_What?_" The response was in unison. Hyrien left them a moment to absorb the news, which he had, till then, believed was common knowledge. _The King has the lines cut. It seems news doesn't travel across the ocean anymore._

The three magicians glanced at each other, whispering about Grendel, about the future. "Why didn't they kill them immediately?" asked Akera at one point. A legitimate curiosity.

"Torture," answered Lanoré. "It's a mentality that many take when they finally capture their archenemies. Why let them just _die_, when you could repay them first for all the frustration they caused?"

Clynine shivered. "I hope they aren't doing anything particularly bad to Grendel," she sighed, folding her hands together. Soon enough, their attention returned—the trio had taken the news much more calmly than anyone else he had seen had.

"And, well, I wanted to ask something of you," he said simply, their gazes all upon him. He began to grow nervous then. "You can probably guess."

"Yes, I think I can guess," answered Lanoré. She wore a knowing smile, and again that intrusive ocean-blue gaze shot like arrows through him. "But go ahead and say it anyway."

"Do you think you can break them out of prison—"

"And there we go," concluded the tall blonde woman with satisfaction, blue eyes seeming more vivid now. She turned purposefully towards her two companions. "Prison break, for a second time. You up to it?"

Akera folded her arms. "Let's do it," she said, deliberately, like a judge dealing the verdict. "But after some sleep."

* * *

"Ketara! _What_ was with that girl just now?"

"Oh, Yunira?" He grinned lightly, glancing up at the ceiling. "She's kind of a nice girl, isn't she?"

Telida pouted. "_Nice girl? _And you're going to trust her just like that?"

Ketara must have laughed. Yes, that was a laugh—it certainly felt like one.

"Why are you being so possessive?" he asked straightforwardly.

"I…I…just think you're too gullible for your own good," she finally growled, after some embarrassed hesitation, turning deliberately away. "You're…right. I'm…being too possessive."

Those words made the Dragon Knight feel dizzy with despair, suddenly. _Oh, Telida—I wish—I just wish— _He threw up his head, gasping slightly for desperation.

_"I made an oath never to love a man.__ We can't ever be more than friends, understand?__"_

Telida strolled in between the brilliant lights, coming to stop only at the very last door. "I've always liked corridor ends," she commented as she slid it open. Turning around, she beamed, reaching out suddenly to ruffle his hair. Then—perhaps noticing the way he sighed hollowly—she withdrew her smile, blinking a few times, some sort of guilt overcoming her. With not a word, not even goodbye, she vanished through the door and shut it with a gentle click.

The warrior stood at the door for an entire minute more. He tried to move, but her presence drew his soul in, held him fast. He brushed the hardwood with his fingertips, staring on into its lines, as if there were a world hidden within those markings.

_I'm sorry, Telida._

Lanoré came strolling down the corridor a short while later. She had been searching for the bathroom—but his presence quickly distracted her, and there she waited, watching him curiously.

It took the young man a minute to realize that she was there; he leapt in startlement when the woman's shadow crossed him, and turned to its caster.

"What's the issue?" the Archmage inquired simply.

He lowered his gaze, glancing about at the floor slabs.

"I…I should have realized long ago," he answered, troubled by his own voice. "I didn't realize…but…I've always…loved her."

"And?" The woman waited expectantly, eyes rife with concern.

With a sigh that was closer to a sob, Ketara closed his eyes, clasping his hands together—wishing, just wishing, this were all only a dream, a lie that he could erase simply by blinking his eyes open.

"I love Telida. And she can't love me back."

* * *

Half of Orion's Belt had bad dreams that night; in the dark, it was so easy to remember it all—the scorch of lightning in the middle of the sea, the thunder beyond that thin wall of ice, the pursuit of fifty armoured men. In their dreams, they fell down fifteen flights of stairs, vanished into the ravenous ocean, burned to death chained to a tree.

But the safety of the sturdy HQ walls, and the equally reassuring reputation the building had, soothed the edges of their nightmares.

In the grey hours of dawn, the sounds of waking began to fill the air—the stumbling footsteps of the sleep-befuddled searching for the bathroom, the clanging of pots and pans as breakfast was prepared, the swooshing of shower water, somewhere nearby.

The Guild Master soon found his opportunity to approach Akera and Lanoré, as everyone was settling into their morning preoccupations, and the pair sat down in the main hall sofas for a short read. As soon as he called their names, Hyrien began regretting having interrupted their rest_ again_. But while the white-haired lady was mighty indignant, the more accommodating blonde Archmage took immediate interest in his topic.

The progress of the conversation saw Akera slowly warming up to Hyrien's presence, no thanks to the topic, which seemed to draw her in as a flower would a butterfly. He presented them the notes he had taken, highlighting to them the sections about the prison. Nervously, he presented the points that he and his friends had already brainstormed. The pair listened casually, but Hyrien could almost see, in their eyes, the cogs of thought clicking away.

"How will you do it?" the White Knight asked innocently, not knowing how they would respond to this question—or rather, not knowing just how much detail their responses would encompass.

A discussion began, and it went on for almost two hours: the sheer complexity of their thinking was simply beautiful—the clash of the two minds that somehow picked out each other's flaws in reasoning even faster than they did their own. Their gazes waged violent war against each other sometimes—ocean blue on one side, sky blue on the other—they knew each other well enough to offend one another comfortably.

_These two are amazing, _the White Knight found himself thinking occasionally, though maybe his attention lingered on the Silver Fang of El Nath a little longer each time.

In two hours and a half, they had cobbled together a wonderful plan, upon which—suddenly—Hyrien believed the impossible was possible. It was suddenly _possible_ to free the four best-guarded prisoners from the King's grasp! He was still reeling as they wrapped up, agreeing to meet again over the task.

"So that's it," concluded Lanoré, and she began to depart alongside her companion—but not before the man could suddenly, impulsively, proclaim his amazement. Akera dismissed his praise with a silent bow of her head, her sharp ice eyes shining with an elusive hint of pleasure. But the Archmage was more liberal with her acknowledgment.

"I do not see why someone of your standing should be praising us to such an extent," she murmured, her voice laced with amusement. "This is only a favour, from one friend to another."

"I am in no position to accept your designation of myself as your friend!" answered the man quickly—

Hyrien gasped sharply as he felt a hand grip his forehead and force him back upright. He found himself inexorably staring into the frightening blue eyes of the Silver Fang of El Nath—suffering under her burning gaze while she removed her hand and went on. "We are friends. Doesn't that sound so much better than 'heroine and worshipper'?"

"Y…yes, milady."

"And none of these pompous terms on me," she was genuinely mirthful now, and as Akera began her departure, she let out a small, lively laugh. "I'm Lanoré. Nice to meet you, O Great Leader of the Mighty Guild Nightfall!"

Hyrien would probably have laughed in response, had he not been slightly embarrassed that the legendary woman was calling him—a man of such low status—that monstrosity of a title.

"And I am Hyrien," he answered, shaking her outstretched hand.

* * *

"I always knew our paths would cross," murmured Raydan to Yunira. "Orion's Belt and Nightfall."

Friendships were made where there had been none; it was quite amazing how fast lonely souls caught on with each other. Raydan sometimes came to sit with Yunira. She welcomed his presence, but her gaze always lingered on the Dragon Knight from Orion's Belt, longer and more intensely every day.

As the second day of Orion's Belt's stay began, Hyrien obliged to take them on a tour around their forest. The air was cold, reminding everyone that the year was plunging steadily into winter. Over the next half hour, they learnt of the entire series of facilities that Nightfall had constructed in the forest. He showed them the wood benches and tables arranged around the creek, the treehouse not far away. Nearer to the Headquarters, Nightfall had built itself a training ground with whatever nature had provided; that was also put on showcase during the short tour.

Last but not least, he showed them the spring that fed the creek. It appeared to be but a small pool in the ground, clear water springing from the depths of the earth to fill it, burbling with laughter. It was almost quarter a mile south, the furthest of Nightfall's frequented spots.

"You can come here to drink on your own," concluded Hyrien, before taking his leave and allowing Orion's Belt to enjoy its ambience. The cold winter danced around them—there wasn't any snow yet, but then again, it rarely snowed in the south. The creek bubbled on, unfrozen for a season yet.

* * *

Telida paused at the top of the stairs. She had caught a flash at the corner of her eye, and now turned, only to see—to her delight—her Dragon Knight friend passing by the bottom.

"Ketara!" She leant over the staircase rails, nervously drawing his attention with a call of his name, waiting expectantly for his attention to turn.

But then her readiness wavered. Would he ignore her, again? Would he simply spare her a glance, then walk away, withdrawn and cold? Just like…always?

Ketara had changed, ever since they had arrived. He wouldn't talk to her, when she most wanted conversation; he wouldn't even look her in the eye. He was constantly seeking excuses to _leave, _to _be somewhere else, _to not be in her presence…

_…almost as if he suddenly hates me._

The girl felt herself tear up suddenly at the idea—though she begged herself desperately not to feel this way, not to be so _emotional_. But then, her tears had always been beyond her control.

_What did I do, Ketara? What did I _do?

Still she waited, and at last he did look to meet her gaze. There was some sort of resonance between them, and immediately she felt a wave of desperate, clingy joy overcome her…

A smile came to the Dragon Knight's lips, despite himself. Involuntarily, the girl glanced away.

"Are you…free right now?"

_Why do I sound so shy? What happened to you, Telida?_

"I…guess I am," he answered, arriving at the bottom of the stairs. "Anything you want?"

"Could you come with me to the spring?"

* * *

Pulling on sweaters and scarves and praying that the night wasn't too cold, the pair slipped out through the door and down the front steps of granite. Around them, the whispering trees seemed to bend in welcome, and the ventured out into the wintry blue night, breaths deep and regular.

Ketara's heart was racing—and it must have been for joy, because for seconds in the dark, he felt as if he were flying. But the worries caught up, unable to leave him a moment of peace, and he shivered.

Something told him that Telida had taken him along for a reason. Her controlled gait, her gimlet eyes, her tense shoulders—the darkness all around. She wanted to have a conversation with him, somewhere where no one could hear.

_…does she know?_

With a sigh, the warrior's walk slowed to a trudge, and he fell behind. When had he realized that he felt this way? No, it hadn't come to him in a flash—no angels and light and dancing flowers, no lightning-struck blindness and brilliant explosions. It had been a gradual knowledge. Something that had come, slowly, to him, over the course of the lengthening months—as he had matured, enough, to see his feelings for what they really were.

Where had the line between friendship and love lain? He…had never felt it passing.

The musical bubbling of spring water grew to envelope them, almost unnoticeably, as they shifted through the tree trunks. Soon the spring came into view, and they approached, pausing at last when they arrived, both gazing at whatever remained of their featureless reflections. Even in the cold dark, the thin moonlight revealed a few glowing white stones deep in the pool.

The warrior heard a breath beside him, slightly nervous, ominous, piercing. He turned.

"Ketara," whispered his companion, gaze stubbornly trained on the water below. The breeze came to catch her words, making them almost impossible to hear. "Something's wrong, isn't it? You've been acting strange. You've been…colder. You can't even…look me in the eye anymore."

The warrior felt a gush of coldness down his back, as she said this. _She knows. She's going to ask—_

"Why? What is it?" Suddenly turning to take hold of his gaze, her eyes grew bright. "What did I do, Ketara? Did you finally grow sick of my friendship? Did I offend you? _What?_"

"No—you didn't do anything—"

She snatched his shoulders suddenly, forcing his gaze violently against hers. "What did I _do?_" her hiss was murderous, her nails digging into his shoulders—into his healing wound, setting it alight with pain. "I can't just go on as if nothing happened! What is _wrong?"_

Ketara gasped, head spinning suddenly. Her eyes burnt into his, sparkling like the stream—and yet his heart would give no answers—no answers at all.

_Why?_

_Tell her the truth!_

_Tell her and be done with it!_

_Hide it from her!_

_Keep lying!_

Three years they had spent, braving the world together, nurturing their friendship. And now, it had to come to this, this sorry situation—one desperately searching for answers, the other desperately hiding them. How much would the past destroy now? How much would it ruin, that day long ago when she had told her of her oath, and he had made a promise never to fall in love with her?

"I—_Lida—_"

His breath was stolen, the way she stared down into his own eyes—hoping, hoping with those black depths, that he would not betray their years together. Lay everything bare. Leave no secrets in the dark.

But could he? Could he say anything, and keep this friendship alive? Could _anything_ be the same, once the foundation of their relationship—the promise that it would always be devoid of love—had crumbled?

Suddenly, suddenly, Ketara was helpless to circumstance. The entire world spun past him, taunting him for his foolishness, for his choices, for his state now. _Who ever told you to do what you did? _The years and the seconds, the seasons, turning, turning. Everything that had taught him to love before.

_Was this meant to happen, from the start?_

_Was our friendship meant to be ruined?_

He suddenly found himself thrown out of that world—thrust into another—and he was gazing deep down into the river of time—at that single day, six long years ago, the day he had first felt her strong fingers tug his mesos from his belt.

He imagined her shout as it echoed from somewhere among the trees, a hungry savage who lived only to stay alive, and perhaps to hate. He remembered her sparkling eyes. He remembered how cold his palms had been, how frightful the darkness, how wildly-beating his heart.

And he began to journey through the days thereafter, days that linked into months, and months into the years that had carried them here. The slopes of the mountains, where they had lost themselves in fear. The stairs of the tower, where she had caught him in her arms.

He remembered her hands, her fingers, interlocked with his own.

He remembered the tears they had cried together, before.

_I always did. I always needed you. I never could have lived, without you there for me._

And then, all around him, the world was dissolving into stars—so many stars, the very stars among which the Dragon had been imprisoned, here at the beginning of time. The world was all a dream, a dream that was beginning—and he heard, in the distance, the Dragon's anger, flooding the heavens:

_I give you happiness, for happiness is what you will seek, the engine of your living. I give you pain, for pain will teach you, to fear the things that will hurt you. And I give you love. For love is when another's happiness is more important than your own._

Then the Dragon cried, for sadness, for joy, for both unending—and His eyes slowly disintegrated into a fine glittery powder, the wild world birthed beneath, unfolding across the barren land, rising from where the dust touched the soil—every petal in the vast panorama, every insect and bird and speck of algae.

At last, when the world was complete and all was calm, the Dragon stood, gazing lovingly down at the world He had brought to life— shedding a last golden tear of happiness.

Except—He wasn't gazing, for He had no eyes.

_The Dragon is blind,_ the warrior suddenly realized, chills running up his spine.

_The Dragon gave His eyes to create the world._

_And that is why His symbol is the rainbow._

_Because He will never see its colours._

And at the end of those five, endless seconds, Ketara finally found his voice.

He knew what to tell her now. He knew how to end this all—for better, for worse.

"Telida."

The wind itself held its breath.

"Yes?"

_This is it. I'm not turning back now. _

"Telida…I just—want you to know…things can change. Things aren't always going to be this way. Things don't always _have _to be this way. Nature can change—the deities can change. We can change things. We were…given the power to do so."

As Telida heard him speak these words, her eyes suddenly flooded to the brim with unbridled confusion.

"Because then, we will not stagnate…and we will not always be trapped here. In the chains of a past we made when we were foolish. Chains that were locked, before we even knew we wanted to be free."

In the silence, as the carcasses of the leaves twisted by, Telida slowly began to understand. She saw the direction of the conversation now, and her eyes began to brighten with tears. Ruled suddenly by concern, Ketara stepped a little closer—but she withdrew quickly, terrified, pulling her arms around herself—

"What is it, Ketara?"

He breathed in deeply, close to tears himself.

"Lida…do you love me?"

She froze, feet deep in the fragmented leaves, toes close to the roots.

Her eyes could have held every star in the sky, the way they sparkled—somewhere between angry, and disbelieving.

Ketara knew, that he had just said something that could never be retracted, never be erased.

It took her three long seconds, to fully take the blow of those words. She stood frozen, head shaking slowly, eyes ignited by incredulousness and the pain of betrayal. Her mouth opened, a gasp of horror, breaths shallow, rapid.

She seemed to search for the words, her lips moving almost in spasms—but no sound came. Not for those seconds.

With a gasp, then, she finally screamed.

"No—no, no, _no!_ _I don't love you!_" Squeezing her eyelids tight, she clawed him away, voice flooding the treetops—like a sky beyond the branches, the colour of blood—blood, blood pouring from her heart, blood spilling all over the earth to turn the roots red. "Ketara—you _promised_—we would never be more than friends! You accepted—and that's why I let you come this close! I thought you'd honour that! This is how it _has_ to be; this is how it must _always_ be…we can't—can't waver from that! _Do you want me to die? Do you?"_

She wailed suddenly, whirling around with deadly speed, landing a slap against his cheek. It stung sharply. But the small throb of pain was nothing, nothing next to the empty well of coldness that was slowly, slowly drowning him.

"You feel that way, don't you? You've started to love me! You have, haven't you? _Haven't you? _I knew you could never be trusted! All men, all the same, all filthy _liars_—"

The young woman's voice stopped short. She seemed more confused than ever, by the words that had suddenly poured from her lips, eyes darting about in her disorientation, searching for a pathway out of this abyss.

_I…I'm sorry._

Ketara smiled sadly. He felt as if he were bleeding inside, a thousand swords run through him, over and over again. The horror of her rejection. She panted—every breath made his heart curl up in agony. But he knew how to hold his tears in, better than the thief girl did.

And he reached out to touch her shoulder in gentle comfort, to tell her that it didn't matter, that he was alright.

To his surprise, instead of whirling away, or flinging his hand off—she accepted his touch.

Silently, quietly as the fading of the sun, Telida's eyes went dim—the way eyes do, when a human crosses the threshold from life into death. Her eyelids were full of tears now; she could do nothing to rein their flow, to stop them from streaming down her face.

Her lips parted.

"Yes…I…do."

She barely managed these words, as if shaping them were the most unendurable torture in the world. Her eyes caught his suddenly, for no more than a second—in that single glance, a world of stories passed between them—of happiness and sadness, of need and regret, of days that had flown by between them, before either one had noticed.

She paused, sobbing. Then her next sentence left her lips, and her doom was sealed:

"I…do…love you."

While Ketara stood, wide-eyed and numb—there was a dark flurry of movement beyond him.

The sound of a scream. _Her _scream—all around him, dancing like ravens in a sky of blood, tearing away at his ears and his heart.

Telida flew past him, with no more than a brush of her arm against his—and took off into the night.

He saw only one thing: the flash of a blade.

_Telida—Telida…where are you going? What are you doing?_

It all registered in an explosion of sensation—horror, panic, ecstasy, hate, relief, fury, pain, doom. Everything, so inebriating—so dizzying—

"Telida!" he gasped—she vanished from sight, and he was thrown out of his catatonia—

In a jerk of panic, he sprang into motion, heart crying. And only one thing rang out in his mind. He could not lose this race.

* * *

Together. Together, they flew through the night, as one, a pair of wings—the world on fire, all the dragons of the past watching from their graves with silent hearts.

"Lida! Please! Come back!"

_Telida, don't do this to yourself! We can change things. I swear we can. I will change them!_

Through worlds they voyaged—through these worlds he chased her, that elusive shadow who had somehow, somehow, always been beyond him—shot out into the clearing that led towards the HQ door like a twisted boulevard, calling her name in bursts of panic—as she slipped, yet again, out of his reach.

The moon pierced the forest, and everything was laid out bare before him: there he saw Telida, trapped in the shadows beneath the trees by the path, eyes shut tight, sweat running down her face, sweat and tears, he couldn't tell which—her blade gleaming, maliciously—

Ketara felt his own heart seize up completely, each heartbeat—each struggling heartbeat—

A scream erupted from the Hermit's throat.

Her hair spiraled, as black as the darkness behind her.

He yelled in denial, dashing across the clearing, fatuous.

Her hand twitched—he began to cry—the blade soared, soared across that five-inch gap, a million miles across…

"Lida! Please! _Please!_"

_Don't do this to yourself!_

Tears scattered from his cheeks, splashing across the brittle leaves below.

_He _was there, with a cry and a leap—he was there, all around her, slashing the dagger out of her hand with every last drop of fury he had ever known how to feel, pinning her furiously to the tree before she could try to murder herself again.

Telida screamed at his touch, as if his skin burned. "_Let me! Let me do it!_" she cried, struggling against his fury and strength, twisting to bite his arm—he flinched, but never let his grip waver, for he knew that his grip was all that was keeping her from dying. "It's too late—too late—too late for me—I'm gone—better for me to die at my own hands than at the hands of the Clock Spirit!"

"_No! _Don't say that! _Shut up!_"

"Let me _go! I HATE YOU! _I hate you for doing this to me! All men are the same—all of them, they hate us, hate us all—pretend to love you—only to turn on you, hurt you, destroy you—and you are no different, Ketara! You, you _always_ meant to do this—you always meant to—"

_"Quiet, Telida!"_

Ketara felt all the years spiral and twist until they were a second—and eternity shone still in his heart, brighter than the spangling of stars. He was a child, standing at the head of a mountain, wondering how far he could travel if he walked one step at a time. But here, now, _that_ world didn't matter, for his entire world was here, here within her eyes. Impulse reigned over him; he was all impulse: her screams must have awakened something blazing in him—and he sank, slowly—slowly—to be claimed by her gaze…

_"LET GO OF ME! LET—GO—"_

Sudden as her screams had come, there was only haunting tranquillity.

It was a few seconds later that Telida stopped breathing. Her eyes went very wide, catching the glittery trails of the fireflies, as they sifted through the branches. Tears still flowed from their corners, streaming down her face, falling into the earth, on the leaves, upon their shoes.

And the regular falling of teardrops only grew more rapid when the numbness left her, and she felt his kiss on her lips.

It was barely a second long. Ketara drew back suddenly, breaths shivering, frightened that he had done something unforgivable. Long after the cold had come between them, his face felt warm. His grip on the young woman grew slack, and he watched, half expecting her to start screaming at him again.

But no—Telida only stared on, silent as the winter sky—breathing, breathing, gasping for air. Her eyes seemed to ask, over and over: _Why are you doing this?_

She gave a soft cry of despair—gripped him by the shoulders, found his lips with hers, fell against him and yielded completely to him. Together, they stumbled out onto the pathway—both too blind to see where they were going.

He was the one who pulled back again, gasping now, eyes blurred. "Lida—Lida, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed—she ignored him and pulled his head close with a flash of anger in her eyes, pressing a third kiss against his lips.

Their heartbeats timed themselves against each other's. He spiraled like a bird in her endless eyes, breathless, fading—her hands slipping to his shoulders, as if he was her soul and her life—as if she would die if they left each other's embrace. He let his fear of the dark go, let his eyes close as well. She was all that mattered. Her lips spoke of need, without even shaping a word. Her grip, across his shoulders, was a world of regret.

They kissed, until the tears pouring from her eyes became too overwhelming, and she had to pull away to cry them all away.

"I'm…sorry," said Ketara—she slipped out of his arms, but his heart cried out for her warmth to return. "I never…meant for things to turn out like this. I never meant for you to…"

"It was never your fault," answered the Hermit, glancing down and wringing her hands. Her anxiety was somehow endearing; it was something he would neverhave imagined seeing in the face of that cruel, dark-eyed forest girl, three years ago. "There's nothing to be done now."

He touched her wrist. Those same black eyes rose to gaze at him, engulfing him in irreparable sorrow. His touch remained.

"I love you, Telida."

Her stern shield crumbled at last; she began to cry for desolation—sobbing first into her arm, before breaking out into true weeping. She swayed, and he caught her by the shoulders, pulling her gently into an embrace, her body still wracked by her sobs.

"I'm…I'm—trapped. I've…sealed myself in."

"And I will break you free," he answered, with all the sturdiness he could muster. Even though he knew there was nothing he could do.

* * *

The dark of midnight was worse tonight than it had been for the years before. To the children who couldn't sleep, it spoke of unseen monsters. But the night was all-encompassing, and they were children too.

"I'm afraid," Telida whispered, refusing to enter her room. "Come, please…"

Instinctively, he snatched for her hands, and clasped them tightly. Smiling, he entered after her, closing the door behind him, to keep the black spirits at bay. They took off their outdoor wear and let the warmth of the wall radiators infuse them, and she tossed him her pillow, knowing he needed it more than she did. The Dragon Knight placed it beside her bed and let himself lie on the cold ground.

The Hermit collapsed onto the mattress, sighing into her mattress for more than just exhaustion. She turned over, shut off the lights. Together, they lay still in the darkness.

"We'll wake up, won't we?" murmured the girl suddenly. "We'll wake up—together?"

Ketara blinked his eyes open. Beside him, her left arm swung down over the mattress edge to reach for his hand, a plea for safety; he took hold of it, and they fell asleep with their fingers interlocked.

Sleep came. The winter vanished behind them, and the darkness drew them in, into a shadow—a whispering, grey world that held no darkness, and yet no light.

Sweat and fear came to drown him. There was nothing but swirling fog around them—all of time seemed to become one, an eddy of trivial things about their feet. If anything remained of the world they had once known, it was lost in a nondescript fog that swirled all around them—parting where he stepped, closing again behind him when he passed through.

But was there really nothing here?

Somewhere deep, deep in the shrouds of the fog, he heard something.

A beat.

It wasn't imaginary; it vibrated in resonance with his throat—an omnipresent throb, timing the world as it spun about its axis.

These were the measures of the centuries. One a second. A heartbeat.

_Throb._

_Throb._

He glanced tentatively right, where he felt the most warmth, and saw a faint ghost just beyond his outstretched hand—and at once he knew that it was Telida.

_Telida! _His thoughts were suddenly shouting her name, and he struggled to push through the fog, to see if she was really there—

Before he could reach her, the circling wind swelled sharply into a hurricane. He was wrenched from the ground, swept into the sky, the cry of fear coming involuntarily…

Then from somewhere all around him, echoing a thousand times over—he heard Telida scream.

"Lida!" he yelled back—his thoughts, his impulses, his desires, all slipping out of his grip in the wake of that mortifying sound, the sound of her in pain. "Lida, are you alright? Lida! _Answer me!_"

"_Give me your hand."_

Ketara went rigid, silent with shock. The voice was slow, toneless, barely human—and louder, far louder, than the scream. The silence that followed was like a coldness that ate rapidly away at his heart, the fog swirling to strangle him, that clock beat still chanting, chanting, taunting.

He understood, suddenly—the greyness, the swirling of time, the vanishing of everything, the regular beat somewhere. _The Clock Spirit, the Clock Spirit is in our midst…_

"_No!_" screamed Telida again.

"_You broke an oath you made in my name."_

"I was foolish! I didn't know the weight of my words! Why can't you forgive me?"

_"Forgiveness? Forgiveness is the true foolishness here. You have to learn, that my name is not to be taken in vain—not for your unholy, tainted vows."_

From the corner of this world, the warrior listened, helplessly. He hated it—hated listening to his best friend have every last chance stripped from her. But what could he do?

_What could he do?_

Fuelled by desperation, the warrior tore free of the chains of his fear, and the fog bent at his will, suddenly, relinquishing him. With cries of rage, he fought through the shadows, beat the malicious tentacles away—clawed his slow, steady path towards her.

"No! _Please!_ Don't hurt her!"

Ketara finally found Telida—lying curled up in fear like a provoked animal, barely a shadow, but distinguishable from the fog around her. With another cry, he descended on her, enwrapped her with his arms—encircling her, guarding her, protecting her from that malicious, horrible voice. "Don't hurt her, please!"

A pair of vast eyes appeared, flashing out from the mists; they were round like glass globules, many times larger than him, gleaming with countless images of his face, its pupils endless black holes that led into nothing.

Ketara shook with terror, pinned to the spot by the deity's cruel gaze. Here, he heard his own heart throbbing, out of rhythm with that grander beat outside.

He knew that an argument with the Spirit was futile. He knew he would not defer the punishment, nor earn the deity's partiality.

But the warmth that he gathered in his arms—this shivering, sobbing girl, who deserved her life more than he did his—made him braver than he was.

"Let…let me take the punishment for her," he finally gasped these words, words that made those glowing eyes flash, and his heart convulse in fright. "Let me be the one who suffers, let me die, let me be in eternal pain! Just d-don't…" The stinging tears finally freed themselves from his eyelids. "…don't hurt Telida."

The eyes seemed to consider his proposal. They dimmed ever so slightly, clock hands whirling like compass needles in an alien land. By then, Telida's body had slipped out of his grip, vanished completely, and Ketara had fallen to his knees, eyes shut in fear—all he could do was gasp Telida's name, thirstily, desperately, as if her name alone would keep him alive—blood gushing warmly from the arrow-wound in his shoulder.

Through the wisps of darkness, the solemn voice returned, with a bargain to make. It whispered two sentences, offered up his last whisper of hope:

_"In exchange for her freedom, you must make a contract with me. In exchange for her life, you must give up something of your own."_

Before his wide, wet eyes, the pale vapour began to gather and thicken, morphing slowly until there was, recognizably, a paper sheet and a quill lain before him.

_"Sign it with your blood."_

Piercingly lucid for these moments in suspended time, Ketara drew in closer, lifting the ghostly-thin sliver of paper from its place, eyes growing wide.

There was only a single, portentous sentence in the document:

_I give up my life of battle and freedom._

As his eyes crossed that one short sentence, over and over again, he clenched his jaw, so tightly it ached. A cry of devastation escaped him, for the years that would crumble to nothing, when he signed. Years he had just watched fly by, dreaming—of proving that cruel bowman wrong—of growing stronger—of playing a part in the revolution—of rising to become a legend—

Of defending the people he loved.

But then in the seconds that followed—he heard another echo of Telida's anguished screaming—

And only then did he realize how minuscule a price it was.

To give up his days of fighting, to save Telida's life.

It wasn't a choice. There was only one answer to this. It was simple.

_Like when the Dragon gave up His power, to unshackle the world from Darkness. Like when Horned Tail gave up its life and kingship, just so it could join its father._

Some sacrifices had to be made.

Sometimes, only one could be happy. When faced with such a choice, it was always easy to take the more selfish option—snatch at the chance to be free, to be happy. Let the other suffer.

But when love was involved, the choice would always be, necessarily, painful. Love, the gift that made life different from the cold deities and spirits.

_Love, when someone else's happiness is more important than your own._

It was all very easy. As long as there ran, in his veins, this love for the person whose life he held in his hands, there was only one thing Ketara could choose. But it would hurt, all the same, to only choose one—her life, or his freedom.

_I might dream and weave and sing…_

_And then you might know everything…_

_Where cradles rise from shattered bones…_

_To raise you up into the spring…_

He heard the sound of a sad voice somewhere. Singing to him, about the Dragon and the world, and the things He gave up so that His creation would know happiness.

And as he lay, the clock of absolute time ticking around him, Ketara heard the entire history of humanity shift by his ears. He felt every hot, blooming drop of blood, as it was shed in war—blood of the martyrs, shed for the motherland, shed for the greater overarching dream, the individual but a vessel of his country's breathing soul—staining the fields of time the rusty colour of sunset. He felt the tears of every mother who had ever died in the throes of her childbirth, falling like rain on his shoulders—shed in the abyssal, final agony of her labour, for the child that she had loved, but would never hold in her arms.

_For the Clock Spirit, there is only justice and injustice. He believes this a punishment._

_But for me, this is a gift._

It was his turn to make this choice.

Glaring defiantly, gloriously, into the deep dark fog, Ketara stood up. With a deliberate slash of his arm, the warrior snatched the quill and jabbed it into his bleeding shoulder. Let it take up the blood, _his_ blood.

All the while, he could feel his tears growing warm, streaming fierily down his face, blinding him…

_Seeds might fall from dreamtime skies…_

_And bloom like teardrops in my eyes…_

_I watch you, smiling silently…_

_Regretting not this sacrifice…_

And he saw the Dragon, with pale blind eyes, smiling down at him within an aura of rainbows.

The warrior drew breath between tightly-clenched teeth. It didn't matter that he would never again know the joy, of battling in the wind, a spirit of life and blood. It didn't matter if that happiness would always be locked away in old memories, of days that couldn't return.

Because _she _would live.

He twisted the quill in his fingers.

His name bloomed, brilliant red on the bottom of the page.

Then the ticking, the ticking of time was everywhere, closing in on him. His head was seized, by a pain beyond measure, pain that was like the entire world clamping, twisting, without mercy, on his skull—

—with a cry he let the contract fall, collapsing into the clouds—through the clouds—Telida's wailing voice chasing him, like an angel through a hundred towers, from heaven to the surface of the world.

* * *

_"Ketara?"_

Dawn. A single voice came through the haze of his sleep, rousing him—weak, faint, hoarse with sorrow.

Ketara lay quietly, shifting a few times with groans of tiredness—before realizing that the source of his discomfort was the material of the floor: cold, hard granite slabs that offered little insulation.

Blinking, the warrior struggled onto his front, and raised himself from the floor. Or at least triedto. As he placed an ounce of pressure on his wrists, something split open within them, and they gave way—he cried for pain, collapsing back to the ground, everything flashing—joints struck repeatedly by electric pangs, as if the tendons had been torn by knives.

"Ketara!" cried the girl on the bed. "What's wrong?" From above, Telida's eyes came to fill his vision. The thief slid over, reaching her arm out over the bed. He saw now—her eyes were rimmed with redness, as if she had just been crying.

"Nothing—are you okay?" Ketara inquired with a tinge of concern, stretching feebly, wrist hanging limp. She reached, but then he shouted—"no, no, not the wrist!—so instead she gripped his forearm, and her strength was enough to lift him.

It was only then that the Dragon Knight felt the very same blinding pain rip through his right ankle—he collapsed forward on his knees, gasping for the excruciation.

_This is it, then. A ruined ankle and two useless wrists._

He took this revelation surprisingly calmly. Such deceptively simple wounds: as long as they never healed, he would never run through forests again—never climb, never write, never eat without someone to spoon-feed him. Let alone stand in battle.

"I'm…fine," whispered the girl, eyes wide with worry. "But I don't think _you _are."

Turning to appraise her, Ketara grinned simply so she would not be sad—despite himself, despite everything. "I'm alright," he answered, tilting his head, "as long as you are."

Tears had formed at the corners of Telida's eyes. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," she murmured, voice quavering gently. "Was it really worth it? Giving up all you've worked for in the last ten years?"

"Eight years. And yes. Completely."

His smile, beautiful as ever, must have been enough to ease the pain from her mind—for that moment, at least. With whatever strength he possessed, he tilted in and kissed her softly on the cheek. Their lives were linked. And everything would change, from today onwards.

* * *

The clouds broke to pieces, and the shards fell to the earth of Victoria Island, as snow. At last, the weather had plunged into veritable midwinter—the tilt of the world away from the sun, on its pilgrimage, winding through eternity.

All around the island, the air on the tallest peaks of Perion dipped to subzero, and the last terns flew away across the sea. At the same time too, the political situation was falling, slowly but surely, to its deepest and dankest since the ascension of King Caleix.

Was this all not familiar? The treachery of Ergoth when he destroyed the Sharenian civilization? The balrogs that had been created to plague the people, thriving in the dark heart of the island?

Wasn't everything just a cycle—pain to joy, joy to pain—always changing, yet not changing at all?

Here, now, the last of the seasons descended upon Victoria Island, an eagle with wide wings. With it came frostbite and hail, death and scarcity, the relentlessly cold season that tested even the sturdiest.

Everyone knew winter; it had fallen upon this world a thousand times over. Just as ancient texts spoke of the snow as it descended through the levels of the sky, the people of the present witnessed the same phenomenon, exactly the way it was described.

Everyone knew revolution. _Turning._ Revolution, the old falling to the flames of uprising, the new coming to take their thrones and their crowns—time and time again.

Somewhere in Ellinia, Garth awakened from his unconscious stupor, only to be slapped with a death sentence by the necromancers surrounding his door.

In Henesys, another note appeared on King Caleix's tabletop. _Captain Celel Adara has failed. The guild has escaped. They are headed for Henesys. Raise all defences._

All around within the Nightfall Headquarters, everyone was awake, expectant. Because something was about to happen; the change was stark in the air.

"It's snowing!" cried Yunira, figure silhouetted in Nightfall's door. All around her, her fiery voice awakened the entire building from sleep—the drowsy men in the couches, the thieves of Ethiel who stayed in the dark corners, Kaida at the stove with a pan of sizzling eggs.

Some of the children raced to join the red-haired girl at the door. They stood together, framed by the cold blue morning, oo-ing and aa-ing, pointing excitedly at the crystals of white as they waltzed through the bare treetops.

"Let's go play outside!" suggested one of the more adventurous children.

"Not too near the main road!" warned Yunira, restraining the herd with tugs at their collars before they could flood out the door.

At the stove, Ralinn was collecting her breakfast. As she waited for the resident cook to be done with her scrambled eggs, she turned to inspect the goings-on of the main hall—the cliques gathering for breakfast, the children enjoying the snowfall, the sofas full of people reading the news.

Sitting cosily at one of the tables, breakfast toasty before her, Lanoré gazed comfortably on. Opposite her, Akera didn't seem half as agreeable with the cold weather—she was huddled in a fur jacket, sipping cautiously from her cup of strong coffee.

With a simple sigh on Lanoré's part, they rose from their break and decided to commence their planning proper, as the sweet aroma of breakfast wafted through the air to embrace them. The senior gave the junior a look—with a grudging sigh, Akera produced a coin from her pocket, tossing to see who would start first.

The coin sparkled in midair—spinning, falling. It landed resonantly on the wooden tabletop.

Instantly a clamour went up. "What—in the Goddess' name," murmured the Archmage. The white haired girl opposite her sucked in a breath of shock, and held it. Her companion bent to scrutinize the place where the coin had landed.

There it stood, the most curious oddity. A one-meso coin, standing on its very narrow edge, glinting in the morning light—twisting ever so slightly when the young woman's breath touched it.

"Now, imagine that," answered Akera. "The probability of a coin toss ending in a _draw_—minuscule, at best…"

A group of warriors at a neighbouring table looked in turn, each gasping in turn as they caught sight of her magnificent feat. Ralinn turned too, when she heard the rising mumble of discussion. Seeming taken aback, she squinted, shifted closer—and finally left the stoves, walking straight up to the offending coin that stood in the mages' midst.

The incredulity in her eyes seemed more than it should have been.

And the meaning of what she said thereafter eluded both mages:

"No…it can't be. This is…the sign."

* * *

A/N: I almost couldn't bring myself to do that to Ketara…but don't worry; I'll get around it. Poor guy T.T

Somehow, it makes me so afraid to know that there's only one chapter left. I need to tie everything up…


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